


(Everything I Do) I Do it For You

by ImanAngel_YouAss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 06, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13530051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImanAngel_YouAss/pseuds/ImanAngel_YouAss
Summary: Struggling to find their feet, regain their equilibrium and reconnect following Sam's re-soulling and the subsequent rekindling of their "relationship", Sam and Dean decide taking on a simple case is the best way to ease themselves back into things.So when the peers of a recently reported missing teenager start turning up dead under strange circumstances, they decide it's exactly the sort of case they need. Probably nothing more than a straight-forward salt n burn, right?Only...Only they're not the only hunters on the case. And the other hunter they meet... well, while Sam and Dean have no clue about him, he sure seems to know a whole lot about them...





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Heya guys, soooo... this was supposed to be a one-shot drabble I was doing for fun, but it sort of became a lot longer than I anticipated. Weird side note; the idea for the story was originally a Sherlock fic I wrote in my head like five years ago, then reinvented as a Sam & Dean gen fic, THEN as a J2 fic and finally - FINALLY - it became this.  
> Also; this is my first try at Wincest (J2 is usually my forte) so please, please, please be kind. And, also, of course I know I'm going to hell for shipping this, you don't need to flame me etc etc :P  
> In all seriousness, just a warning there is a brief mention of suicide (the victim) - it's not a main part, but it's mentioned so I thought I'd warn it. And there's also a... uh, stalkery kind of character as well. So fair warning for that too.  
> Anyway. I think that's everything. Just, the usual, disclaimer: I own nothing, I am unbeta'd, I'm a fragile smol girl so be kind and sorry for the wayyyy too long chapter note. Enjoy! xx :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this is set shortly after the episode “Unforgiven” in Season 06.

Dean watched Sam sleep.

There was nothing _creepy_ about it, Dean would be quick to yell at anyone who dared to suggest otherwise. He wasn’t some _weirdo perv_.

Although, to be fair, he _was_ sleeping with his younger brother in an incestuous relationship that, though periodically had had it’s definite “off” periods, more or less spanned since said brother was about twenty two, amidst the angst and uncertainty that had followed Sam’s departure from Stanford, the ashes of his former life, of Jess, of “normality” still clinging to his clothes.

But, yes, the whole “incest-and-my-brother-is-my-soulmate” aside; Dean wasn’t some weirdo perv. He _wasn’t_.

He was just... watching Sam sleep was all.

They were in a non-descript motel, in the middle of nowhere and had just arrived that day, having been basically ejected from Bobby’s home, with the older hunter stating that they were “drivin’ him round the goddamn bend” and would they just “find a goddamn case and get out of his hair for a bit” already. Dean not-so-helpfully asking “what hair?” had more or less sealed their fate.

So they’d driven, with no real destination in mind, although Sam Geek-Boy extraordinaire had been trawling through newspapers, throwing out ideas for possible cases that Dean was quick to dismiss or shrug off (and wasn’t Sam just getting more and more suspicious about that), before finally stopping at this motel.

They’d eaten, Dean had set the television to the free porn channel and hidden the remote, Sam had yelled and unplugged the television, Dean had considered his daily quote of “annoy young sibling” successfully filled, allowing him to move to fulfil his “hot older boyfriend” quota by blowing Sam until the younger hunter was a gasping, moaning mess. Then Sam had reciprocated and the two had curled up in the slightly lumpy and more-than-slightly musty-smelling hotel bed to sleep.

Or, in Dean’s case, to _not_ sleep.

There were reasons, for his late-night stare-fest. For the way he sat half propped up on the bedhead and let his eyes track the smooth, sleep-lax lines of Sam’s face, the shaggy mop of hair splayed on the pillow, the soft lips semi-parted. The blanket pooled at Sam’s waist, his chest bare, exposing the muscles that Robo-Sam had jacked up that still bulked his brother’s frame, the dangerous cut of these imposing muscles contrasting the way Sam always looked so young, so vulnerable in his sleep, the way his hand curled a little under his chin like it had when he was a tiny toddler, all those years ago.

Sam shifted in his sleep, gave a little snuffle.

Robo-Sam hadn’t slept.

Robo-Sam _certainly_ hadn’t slept in the _same_ bed as Dean – no, their relationship had been decidedly in the “off” phase when Sam had been walking around sans soul. God knows what Robo-Sam had used night time to do... push-ups or sit-ups, slaughtering innocents, whatever it was he did for a hobby. Those memories - the memories of the 6 ft 4, remorse-free killing machine that had worn his baby brother’s face were still so, _so_ fresh in Dean’s mind; Sam’s soul only _just_ crammed back into it’s rightful place mere weeks ago, that he just… he just wanted to watch Sam sleep. Because if Sam was asleep that meant that it was _Sam_ – it was _his_ Sammy, all puppy-dog eyes and goodness, not the cold imposter. He _needed_ to watch Sam sleep – he _needed_ to drink in the sight, needed to let it settle the twist in his gut that had been present ever since he’d encountered Robo-Sam and hadn’t known what was wrong, only that it wasn’t quite _Sam_. Watching Sam sleep soothed the last vestiges of tension that he carried, relaxed his body slowly. Watching Sam sleep told him that this was _his_ Sam; _his_ Sammy, back in one piece.

Sam shifted again. A tiny bit of tension crept into his sleep lax face, probably an undetectable amount to the normal eye. To the _non-Dean_ eye. Because Dean was an expert in all-things-Sammy, could read his baby brother like a book from the tiniest of movements, the barest hints of inflection in his tone. Dean definitely spoke fluent Sammy. And he saw the barest clench of Sam’s jaw as he slept, the appearance of the tiny wrinkle between Sam’s brows, saw the way the muscles in his shoulders clenched. Dean straightened a little, and waited.

Because this was the _other_ reason he was watching Sam sleep, was staying awake at this late hour.

 _The Great Wall of Sam_.

The Wall Death had put up in Sam’s mind to block a century’s worth of torture at the hands of two very pissed off archangels. The precarious structure that stood between Sam and insanity. Between Sammy being Sammy and Sammy being reduced to, at best, a drooling mess, and at worst…? _Dead._

The seizure in Bristol, Rhode Island had bought it home to Dean just what they were dealing with. It had been easy, before that, to simply think Sam was back, the Wall was in place and everything was hunky-dory - so easy to lull himself into that false sense of security. Then Sam had dropped like a rock to the ground and started seizing and Dean realised that, _oh wait_ , he was a motherfucking _Winchester_ and things were never, _ever_ going to just be _hunky-dory_. And that Wall? That _great goddamn_ Wall Death built, was transformed in Dean’s mind from looking like a formidable concrete structure to looking like flimsy cardboard held in place with duct-tape and staples. Not indestructible. Not impenetrable. _Weak_. _Fragile_.  

So with that knowledge in his head, that the Wall may leak, may crack, Dean started to stay awake, started to watch more closely, berated himself for not doing so in the first place, for being too caught up initially in the thrill of having Sam back, in the tentative first moments of rekindling “them”, in the first fumbling kisses that felt like coming home. He knew, from his own experience, that Hell liked to creep in when you were most vulnerable, liked to seep into your dreams when you couldn’t defend yourself.

 _Nightmares_.

Nightmares of _blood_ and _pain_ and _torture_ (and, in his case, of that lust for power, that thirst for that first pained scream, the first cut into soft flesh, the first drop of blood, the first – _no not going there, not going there, stop_ ). Nightmares where Hell slipped through those cracks in the Wall, bled into Sam’s subconscious. And, sure enough, the first night Dean had stayed awake, Sam had twitched, his face had tensed, that little wrinkle had appeared between his brows, and his breath had quickened. It was a stark contrast to the “Sammy having nightmares” he’d been more familiar with in the past – when his baby brother had thrashed and whimpered and cried out. No, this was a quiet, stifled pain, a tension like his body was being electrocuted by a live wire, all ramrod straight muscles and Dean didn’t want to think, didn’t want to _imagine_ what had happened to make Sam’s reactions to nightmares change from loud flailing to _this_ – this quiet suffering.

But hey, he knew from his own experience how much a torturer loved screams. How _boring_ a quiet victim was, how quickly you could lose interest when you didn’t get those _delicious screams_ –

 _No. Not going there_ , Dean told himself firmly, sternly.

Sam’s new-found nightmare reaction, most likely stemming from a sort of self-preservation technique learned in the pit, meant it was entirely possible that Hell had been leaking into his nightmares since his soul was returned and Dean wouldn’t have known, would have slept _right through_ the quiet suffering, no loud noises or thrashing to awaken him. And, as the general theme tended to be that in the morning Sam had no recollection of the nightmares, there wouldn’t have been any indicator the next day to clue him in.

And didn’t he just like to beat himself up over the thought of Sam suffering and him not doing anything.

But Dean, some might argue, if Sam didn't remember the nightmares, then what was the big deal? No harm done, really?

If anyone _did_ argue that, Dean would be highly likely to ask them if they’d ever freakin’ _met_ him, because he was _Dean Fucking Winchester_ and it didn’t matter if Sammy didn’t remember anything, first and foremost his number one job was to _take care of Sammy_ , _regardless_ of whether it was remembered or thanked. The basis of his number one job was simple – if Sam was in pain – and this was _any_ Sam, unconscious Sam, asleep Sam, _any Sam_ – Dean stopped it. That was it.

Sam’s breathing started to escalate.

 _Showtime_ , Dean thought, with more than a hint of bitterness, and he slid a little down the bed, rolled and pressed up behind his brother, sliding a hand around the trim waist, his other hand coming to gently card through Sam’s shaggy, long locks.

‘Hey, easy Sammy, easy kiddo’ he murmured softly.

Sam shifted a little restlessly and Dean pressed closer.

‘You’re ok, Sammy, you’re ok’ he assured him gently.

He moved to gently brush his lips on Sam’s forehead, kept the soothing motion of his hand in the younger man’s hair, kept his breathing steady and rhythmic, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against Sam’s back. It took a bit, but the younger man started to settle, his breathing evened out, body relaxed and Dean let out a long breath and closed his eyes.

 _Work done for the night,_ he told himself.

 _Until tomorrow night,_ he added bitterly.

‘You’re ok Sammy,’ he muttered aloud, and didn’t know who he was assuring, himself or his brother, ‘you’re gonna be _ok_.’

 

**

‘So get this.’

Dean paused, bag of greasy takeaway dangling from his mouth, a tray of two coffees clutched in one hand, the other shutting the motel door behind him, and raised his eyebrows at his brother. Sam was hunched at the motel table, his long legs crammed up beneath the too-small furniture, laptop open in front of him, looking refreshed and awake and very much the stark contrast to “four-hours-sleep” looking Dean.

‘What, are you not sleeping or something?’ Sam had asked him this morning when he grumbled and fumed at being woken up at around eight am.

‘Or something’ he’d replied evasively, then thrown a pillow at Sam and told him to get lost and let him sleep longer.

‘I think I’ve found a case’ Sam continued.

Dean felt tension creep up his spine. He took the paper bag from his mouth and headed to the table.

‘Oh?’ he said non-committedly, putting the coffees and the food atop the table.

‘A few towns over,’ Sam said, reaching for one of the coffees. ‘Bodies found – torn up like wild animals, heart removed and – I already checked – it all coincides with the lunar cycle. Pretty straightforward werewolf case.’

The tension left Dean a little. ‘Uh,’ he said, and snatched the other coffee. ‘Yeah. I, uh, thought so too. When I saw that yesterday. I, uh, already told Bobby. He’s got someone onto it.’

Sam frowned. ‘You – he’s got _someone_ onto it? You got him to get someone to look into it? What about _us_ , Dean? You didn’t think we could check into it?’

‘Sam’ Dean sighed.

‘No, don’t – stop,’ Sam snapped, interrupting him. ‘This is – this is like the fifth case you’ve vetoed or palmed onto someone else, Dean. What – are we not hunters anymore?’

‘I just – you know,’ Dean took a seat, pointedly looked anywhere but at his younger brother. ‘Thought we could use a break – ’

‘We _had_ a break,’ Sam pointed out, ‘we were _having_ a break. At _Bobby’s_. And we left to find a case, _remember_?’

‘As if it’s a break bein’ round that old kook,’ Dean joked weakly, ‘we need a holiday just to recover from bein’ there – ’

‘Dean – ’

‘Sam, look – ’ Dean started.

‘No, you look,’ Sam interrupted, ‘I know what this is about.’

‘This isn’t “ _about_ ” anything’ Dean insisted.

‘Yes it is,’ Sam overrode him, ‘this is about the Wall.’

And Dean shut up. Because that was _exactly_ what it was about. That was _exactly_ why he’d been avoiding a new case, been surreptitiously looking up cases behind Sam’s back and palming them off to Bobby to take care off before his brother could cotton on.

Because of that goddamn precarious, fragile, _oh-so-important_ Wall.

Because Death said not to scratch it. He said not to touch it. And - and what if a case _triggered_ something, caused Sam to scratch without him realising? What if a case set off a Hell memory? And, Christ, monsters seemed to have a goddamn fetish for hurling his brother against brick walls, or smashing his head around like a goddamn football – what if one of those hits knocked something in that Wall loose? Dean couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – take that chance.

‘I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about’ was what Dean said instead.

Sam rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. ‘You think if we take on some case that it might trigger a memory and send the Hell Wall tumbling down,’ he said, and then added, ‘or, you think something’s going to hit me in the head and knock something loose.’

And, _damn_ , Dean forgot that as much as he was fluent-Sammy, Sam was just as much fluent-Dean in return.

He decided to take the mature route in response and dragged the paper bag over, rifled around the contents, pulled out a bacon and egg sandwich and pointedly ignored Sam.

‘ _Dean_ ,’ Sam sighed.

‘ _Sam_ ’ Dean mimicked.

‘Dean, I _want_ to hunt,’ Dean chanced a look up, found himself caught in the full blast of the patented “Sammy-puppy-dog-eyes”, ‘I _need_ to hunt. I want to – ’

He paused, struggled a moment, and Dean got it.

‘Sam,’ he put the sandwich on the table, ‘if this is some sort of – need to save people to atone for whatever – whatever it is you think you did when you were – I already told you, it – ’

‘ - Wasn’t me, yeah I _know_ , I get it,’ Sam interrupted. ‘I get it Dean, I _do_. I get what you’re trying to say but – but you can say it all you want, I still – I need to hunt, Dean. I need to… to _save_ people.’

Dean expelled a long sigh, dragged a hand down his face.

‘There’s another case I found,’ Sam said after a pause, ‘one town over. A teen, found dead in her room – no signs of forced entry, no indicators anyone broke in – suffocated to death.’

‘Could be a psycho family member’ Dean shrugged.

‘Maybe, but,’ Sam turned the open laptop around, pushed it across the tabletop toward his brother, ‘coroner’s report states they found traces of water in her lungs. Like she’d drowned. And get this, three months ago, another teen went missing – Stacey Hutton – went to a party, never returned. They searched the town top to bottom and no trace. Parents said she was quiet, studious and there’s no way she’d have been a runaway.’

Dean’s eyes flickered over the newspaper article, the picture of the shyly smiling teenage girl, the headline of “GIRL STILL MISSING.”

‘What makes you think the two things are related?’ he asked.

‘The girl who suffocated a few days ago is one of the girls who was at the party. She was questioned by the police, but said she “doesn’t recall even seeing Stacey at the party.” And the place where the party was held? Giant lake on the property. Rich kids.’

‘So you think – what – Stacey goes to the party, something happens, she drowns in the lake, and the other kids try to cover it up? And now she comes back, ghost form, looking for revenge?’ Dean arched an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘Bit of a stretch’ Dean said sceptically.

‘Yeah, well, the open and shut werewolf case I found was palmed off to someone else,’ Sam said pointedly, tugging the laptop back over, ‘so this is the best I’ve got.’

Dean made a face at the obvious sarcasm, picking up the sandwich again and taking a bite.

‘Look, Dean, if this is a case, then you gotta admit, it’s an easy one,’ Sam spread his hands wide, ‘a simple vengeful spirit – salt and burn job.’

‘Except,’ Dean said through a mouthful of food, ‘we don’t know _where_ the body is to salt and burn.’

Sam’s face morphed into an appropriation of a bitch face. ‘Listen, Dean, _I_ want to work a case, if _you_ don’t want to go look into this, then I’ll go by myself – ' 

Dean swallowed his food, held up both hands. ‘All right, all right, Jesus. We’ll go take a look into it, ok? Enough with the dramatics.’

Sam expelled a breath and closed his laptop, getting to his feet. ‘Thanks, Dean.’

Dean made a huffing noise and snagged Sam’s shirt as he passed by. ‘Lissen – anything – anything _squirrely_ happens in that head of yours,’ he gestured with his free hand, ‘we bail, got it?’

Sam nodded. ‘Got it.’

Dean levelled a look at his younger brother’s face. ‘I _mean_ it Sam.’

Sam held up both hands. ‘I solemnly swear if anything goes,’ he made finger quotes in the air, '“ _squirrely_ ” in my head, we will bail. Happy?’

Dean scowled, huffed. ‘Could do without the smart-ass attitude, but yes.’

Sam smiled, ducked his head down and brushed his lips over Dean’s in a light peck. ‘It’ll be _fine_ , Dean.’

He made to draw back, but Dean looped his arm around the back of his neck, dragged him back down, kissed him again, this time properly, this time his tongue probing, sweeping along Sam’s bottom lip until the younger man opened up, surrendered into the kiss, tongues tangling, the hot thrill he always felt when kissing Sam pulsing low in his gut. Sam drew back, lips a little swollen and wet with spit, cheeks a little flush. He straightened up.

‘You taste like bacon’ he informed his brother.

‘Fussy bitch’ Dean rolled his eyes.

‘Jerk’ Sam retaliated automatically.

Dean returned to his sandwich as Sam started to pack up, allowing a little smile to form on his lips. It would be ok. _It would all be ok_. This case would be a walk in the park.

So why then, did his every instinct tingle, _scream_ at him that something was about to go horribly, _horribly_ wrong?

 

**

 

‘I already talked to the police,’ the mother of the recently suffocated teen looked a little bewildered, her eyes red-rimmed and darkly shadowed, hair an unwashed greasy mess, the grief written into every line of her body, ‘I already told them everything.’

It was their first day in the town where Stacey Hutton had gone missing and the teen, Deborah Devon, was found suffocated in her room, and Sam had suggested they pay a visit to the mother of Deborah first, scope the room the teen was found in for signs of EMF. Suited up, fake FBI badges in tow – Agents Parker and Stone in this town – they’d arrived at her doorstep.

‘We understand, Mrs Devon,’ Sam said, keeping his voice soft and low, ‘I know things must be tough now, but we’re just trying to figure out what happened to your daughter, that’s all. We won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.’

The woman, Mrs. Devon, wavered a moment and bit her lip. Sam tried to keep his face open and kind, was most probably displaying what Dean called his “puppy dog” eyes, and saw the woman give a sigh and step back, relenting, opening the door for them.

‘Come through then’ she said, already turning and heading down the corridor.

They followed her down the hallway and into the sitting room. It was more than a little messy, pillows strewn about the place, discarded, old newspapers and bouquet’s of steadily dying flowers.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Mrs. Devon swept a hand listlessly about the room, ‘cleaning just… hasn’t really been a priority right now.’

She hovered a little as Sam and Dean sat down. ‘Did you want – we don’t have any milk, but black tea or coffee?’ she offered.

‘We’re fine, Mrs. Devon,’ Sam tried to smile reassuringly, ‘just take a seat and we’ll try to make this as quick as possible.’

The woman sat down slowly, ran a hand through her unwashed hair.

‘Can you tell us a little about that day – the day Deborah died?’ Dean asked.

Mrs. Devon gave a little sniffle at the mention of her daughter’s name. ‘It was – it was just like any other day – I – Debbie came home – she had been out with her friends – she just went up to her room and – ’ she closed her eyes, shook her head, ‘ – and I didn’t even – I didn’t hear _anything_ , I didn’t – I was in the kitchen and she was just upstairs and I didn’t even hear that she was in trouble – ’

She gave a little sob and Sam leant forward, tried to catch her eye.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Mrs. Devon’ he said quietly.

She nodded her head, wordlessly, opened her eyes. ‘By the time I’d cooked dinner and gone up to fetch her, she was already… she was just...just _lying there_.’

She lapsed into silence, tears trickling down her face.

‘Did you notice anything odd around that time?’ Dean asked.

Mrs. Devon blinked at him. ‘I don’t – odd?’

‘Cold spots? Lights flickering? Just anything – weird’ Dean elaborated.

Mrs. Devon looked confused. ‘I – no. Like I said – like I told the police – there was – there was nothing. I didn’t hear or see anything.’

‘And is there anyone that might’ve wished Deborah harm?’ Dean asked. ‘Anyone at all you can think of?’

Something flickered briefly over Mrs. Devon’s face, and she glanced quickly away. Sam shifted to the edge of the couch, closer towards her.

‘Mrs. Devon?’ he prompted gently.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘It isn’t… Debbie, she was… _spirited_ , is all,’ the woman shifted uncomfortably. ‘She wasn’t… she was a teenager. They’re all a little… self-absorbed around this time. And – people like to – make assumptions, about the more popular girls – ’

Sam tossed a look to Dean, who arched an eyebrow.

‘Did Deborah know Stacey Hutton?’ he asked.

Mrs. Devon looked momentarily caught off guard. ‘Stacey – the girl who went missing?’ she looked genuinely confused. ‘I don’t – they ran in different circles. Stacey she – I mean, I never knew her, but she was more studious. I don’t – no, Debbie wouldn’t have known her. Does that – what does Stacey have to do with my Debbie?’

‘Nothing,’ Dean said quickly, ‘nothing – just – you know –just covering all bases.’

Mrs. Devon’s brows drew together and Sam cleared his throat. She looked to him.

‘I – uh, do you mind if I use your rest room?’ he offered a polite smile.

Mrs. Devon slowly nodded. ‘Up the stairs, second door on the left’ she told him.

Sam nodded and rose to his feet, slipping from the room. He made his way carefully up the stairs, reached the second floor, and looked around himself. At the end of the hallway there was a bright pink sign on one of the doors, “DEBBIE” spelt out in glittery letters, with a fluffy white border around it. He headed to the door, twisted the handle and opened it.

The remnants of crime tape still strewn across the ground were the only thing to really indicate what had happened there. The rest of the room looked like a typical teen girl’s room – rumpled, pink duvet cover, a desk with an ornate mirror, the surfaces covered in various makeup and hair products, pictures of friends blue-tacked to the walls and to the mirror. Sam dug into his pocket, bought out the EMF reader and held it out in front of him as he stepped into the room.

The EMF’s reaction was almost instantaneous, immediately emitting a shrill, high-pitched whine, all buttons lighting up and Sam jumped a little at the onslaught of noise and lights, before quickly shutting the thing off, casting a glance out the door, pausing to see if Mrs. Devon had heard. When nothing happened, he let himself relax.

_Well, that answered that then. Definitely dealing with a spirit._

He did a quick lap of the room, scanning over pictures and discarded textbooks for anything the police might have missed, feeling slightly skeezy being in a teenager’s bedroom.

Wouldn’t have bothered him a few months ago, he thought bitterly, pausing in the centre of the room. He would have ransacked the room without pausing to think. Would have bullied Mrs. Devon into talking about her daughter’s “popularity” and “self-absorption.”

Something heavy settled in his gut and he wondered how many grieving mothers, widows, husbands, fathers, friends he’d left feeling worse than before. That he’d left feeling torn open and devastated. His throat tightened. His mind strained.

Something tickled, something stirred and Sam was rooted to the spot, staring as his mind drifted, drifted and thought and – _and – went to scratch – went to scratch_ –

‘Hey.’

Sam jumped a little, startled, turning, blinking to see Dean standing at the doorway, an eyebrow arched.

‘You ok?’ his older brother’s gaze swept over him head to toe.

Sam gave himself a little shake. ‘Yeah, fine’ he said hurriedly.

There was a sceptical twist to Dean’s mouth, but he didn’t press the issue.

‘Any hits?’ he gestured around the room.

‘Definitely EMF traces’ Sam confirmed.

‘So Stacey most likely _has_ been payin’ a visit to her classmates...’

Dean stepped to one side to let his younger brother exit the room. ‘Well, I got the names of some of Debbie’s friends; I figure we can maybe have a chat to some of them, see if we can’t get someone to spill what happened to Stacey.’

Sam nodded his agreement as he made his way down the hallway, Dean following.

‘We should check out the property that the party was on too,’ he added, keeping his voice low as they approached the bottom level where Mrs. Devon waited. ‘See if the EMF reader picks up anything there.’

‘Tonight?’ Dean suggested.

‘Tonight’ Sam agreed, nodding his head.

 

**

 

To say the Donohue’s property, where the party had taken place, was huge would be an understatement.

The undeniably rich family had _miles_ of land, including their very own private lake, set amongst the sparse woods that surrounded their property. The towering mansion was at least four storeys high, boasting an additional pool and pool house just behind it.

‘Friggen millionaires man,’ Dean said, squinting up at the house that he could see towering above the treetops in the distance, parked as there were on the edges of the property. ‘People with more money than sense, dude. Who needs a pool _and_ a lake?’

‘The lake’s probably not meant for swimming,’ Sam replied absently as climbed from the car & tucked his gun into his belt, ‘it’d be more ornamental than anything. The pool is for…’

He trailed off at Dean’s look. ‘Annd you were just bitching aloud and didn’t want an actual answer, right’ he finished.

Dean rolled his eyes, wafted a hand. ‘C’mon Sasquatch, let’s go check out this lake.’

They walked slowly through the woods, Dean taking point with a flashlight, the light bobbing through the darkened trees, Sam following close behind, the EMF meter held out-stretched in his one hand.

‘ – who needs a _forest_ on their property anyway?’ Sam tuned back in to realize Dean was continuing his anti-rich-people diatribe, ‘what’s wrong with a garden? Oh no, they have to go ahead and try an’ own a whole hunk of nature too – '

‘At least they haven’t bulldozed it all down’ Sam commented.

Dean eyeballed him. ‘You’re defendin’ them?’

‘I’m not – ’ Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘I’m just saying, they could’ve torn the whole lot down but they – ’

‘Shut up’ Dean said suddenly.

Sam blinked. ‘Ok, wow, you really feel that strongly – ’

‘No, seriously, Sam, shut up – ’ Dean threw out a hand, stopped Sam in his tracks, his body tense, eyes scanning the surrounding trees.

Sam was instantly on the alert. ‘What – what is it?’ he kept his voice low.

‘Heard somethin’,’ Dean muttered back, and he’d dropped one hand to rest it on his gun, ‘think someone’s around.’

 _Or something_ , Sam though, and he tucked the EMF meter in his jean pocket, reached for his gun. He heard the footsteps then, heard them slow as they approached, saw Dean slowly tug his gun out, click the safety off. He met his brother’s eyes, nodded once, and then the two of them spun, guns drawn, the exact second that a man all but lunged from the trees, also with his gun drawn.

‘Hands in the air!’ the man shouted.

‘ _You_ put _your_ hands in the air!’ Dean snarled back.

‘Who are you?’ the man demanded at the same time as Sam.

‘FBI’ both Dean and the man simultaneously shouted.

There was a beat.

‘You’re FBI?’ Dean said.

‘You’re FBI?’ the man echoed.

And then Sam saw the EMF meter in the man’s front pocket, and something clicked. He started to lower his gun.

‘You’re a hunter?’ he said.

The man’s eyes flickered to him, then back to Dean, who was still rigidly pointing the gun at him.

‘You’re hunters?’ he said.

‘Is there an echo in here?’ Dean growled. ‘You wanna stop repeating everythin’ we say?’

‘Dean,’ Sam put a hand to Dean’s hip, and he saw the man’s eyes track the movement, realized a beat too late it was probably a tad too intimate. ‘Dean, he’s a hunter.’

Dean made a noise, but didn’t lower the gun, the recent run-ins with the Campbell’s still fresh in his mind. The man, meanwhile, started to lower his gun.

‘You guys looking into Deborah Devon’s death?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, we are’ Sam’s gun was at his side now. ‘You too?’

The man bobbed his head. ‘Yep – and I see you guys figured it was something to do with Stacey too,’ he grinned, not seeming perturbed by the fact that Dean was still pointing the gun at him. ‘I’m Russ – Russ Hogson.’

Sam gave Dean a nudge, caught his gaze in a pointed look and the older man let out an aggravated breath and finally lowered his gun.

‘Dean,’ he supplied, and waved a hand at Sam. ‘And that’s Sam.’

Something dawned in Russ’s eyes and they widened the tiniest bit as  his lips parted in a loud gasp. ‘I – _I fucking knew it!_ ’ he blurted out.

‘Come again?’ Dean blinked.

And Russ let out a bark of laughter, slapped a hand to his thigh. ‘You’re the freakin’ _Winchesters_!’ he crowed. ‘I knew it – I _knew_ it! _Dean Winchester_ ,’ his eyes zeroed in on Dean, ‘ _Dean freakin’ Winchester_!’

Dean looked a tad taken aback. ‘You’ve – heard of us?’

‘ _Heard_ of you?’ Russ echoed, voice still loudly overexcited. ‘Of _course_ I’ve heard of you! You’re a _legend_! A _hero_!’ he made a grab for Dean’s hand and the elder Winchester jerked back on instinct, still looking startled, ‘sorry, sorry – just wanted – to shake your – _wow_ – just, _wow_! _Dean Winchester_!’

Sam turned his head to one side, tried to smother a laugh with a cough. Russ looked to him at the noise, smile dimming a bit.

‘And – of course – of course, Sam, Sam too’ he added hastily. ‘I – yeah. Sorry. Just. Excited.’

‘Clearly’ Dean said.

Sam bit at his lip, tried to control the smirk at the semi-bemused, semi-terrified look on Dean’s face. Russ settled back on his heels, his cheeks starting to pinken a little.

‘Anyway,’ he cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his head. ‘Anyway I – you guys were probably trying to check out the lake right? I – I already did a sweep – EMF is clear. I was thinking Stacey - I was thinking the pool instead? If she drowned that is. Do you think she drowned? Anyway. The – the Donohue’s – that’s the family that live here. But you probably already know that,’ Russ added hastily, ‘I bet you’ve already – researched everything. You would have. Anyway. The Donohue’s – they’re having a shindig tonight – I talked to them earlier today, so probably not best to check out the pool tonight – in case someone’s still awake, you know?’

He said all of it rather fast, and with his gaze solely directed at Dean, and Sam was starting to feel torn between amused and slightly offended.

‘You’ve talked to the Donohue’s already?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve been here a few days,’ Russ answered and it was odd, Sam thought, how he managed to answer Sam’s question but not tear his eyes from Dean’s face once. ‘I’ve talked to the Donohue’s and the Devon’s and the Huttons. I’ve got notes and recordings from all the interviews if you want to come back to my house to read them?’

Sam wondered idly if that invitation included him and decided it probably didn’t.

‘Your _house_?’ Dean repeated.

‘Oh right,’ Russ gave a shrug, ‘I’ve - uh - I've an old - an old friend – she lives in this town. S’how I heard about this case actually. So I’m staying with her – uh but, but she’s out of town though. Right now. S'just me. So we’ll have the house to ourselves.’

 _How nice_ , Sam thought and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes; _you can braid each other’s hair and paint each other’s nails_.

‘Sorry – you talked to the Donohue’s?’ he interrupted and finally, _finally_ Russ looked at him. ‘You didn’t scan the pool while you were there?’

Russ pursed his lips. ‘We met in the café. I didn’t go to their house,’ he answered shortly, then looked back at Dean. ‘I have an interview scheduled tomorrow with Greg Houser. He was Deborah’s boyfriend. I figure if we can press anyone about what happened to Stacey it’d be him.’

‘Great,’ Sam announced loudly, and stepped to grab Dean’s arm. ‘Good. That sounds good. So we’ll meet up tomorrow then? Greg Houser’s place. What time?’

Russ wilted a little. ‘You don’t want to – tonight – we can – my notes – ’

‘Probably best we get some sleep, yeah?’ Sam said. ‘So tomorrow – what time?’

Russ’s lips twitched, like he wanted to pout but fought the urge. ‘Ten’ he answered.

‘Great, see you then,’ Sam smiled, and gave Dean a little push towards the car.

‘Dean?’ 

Dean tossed a look at Russ, then at Sam. ‘Yeah – yeah, man, catch ya tomorrow then.’

‘Bye Dean’ Russ beamed.

He didn’t add a goodbye to Sam, but then – Sam hadn’t really expected him too.

 

**

 

‘So _that_ was fucking creepy’ Sam said, less than a minute into them entering their motel room.

The car ride back had been in silence and Sam had waited – _waited_ for Dean to say something, to comment on Russ’s weird behaviour and outright rudeness towards Sam, had all but vibrated with the need to vent about it, barely containing himself until he finally – _finally_ cracked and had to speak when they entered the motel room. Dean was tugging off his jacket as he tossed a glance at Sam.

‘Huh?’

‘Russ?’ Sam prompted, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘You know? Fan boy?’

‘Fan boy?’ Dean echoed.

Sam rolled his eyes and shrugged off his shirt. ‘Oh come on, Dean. The dude was all but _drooling_ on you. He was probably five seconds from asking for your autograph. It was _creepy_.’

‘He wasn’t _that_ bad’ Dean said.

‘ _Seriously_?’ Sam’s eyebrows shot up. ‘ _Seriously_? Not that – Dean he was… he was _Becky-style_ creepy. Bunny boiler level. He didn’t even _look_ at me – ’

‘ _Ohhh_ ,’ Dean waggled his eyebrows as he shimmied from his pants. ‘ _I_ see. You upset because he wasn’t fangirlin’ over you too Sam? Can’t help that the guy’s just got good taste.’

Sam pursed his lips. ‘Are you – _please_. I’m _not_ jealous that he wasn’t _slobbering_ over me – ’

‘Or _maybe_ you’re jealous because you think he’s got a crush on me,’ Dean teased, walking over to Sam. ‘You gettin’ all possessive there lil’ brother?’

‘Dean’ Sam sighed, exasperated.

Dean reached him, slid his arms around Sam’s slim hips as he stepped close.

‘Aww, don’t worry Sammy, you’re the only one for me’ he grinned.

‘You’re such a jerk’ Sam scowled.

Dean nuzzled into his neck, let his lips brush over the bare skin. ‘Hey, look, the way I figure it, the kid’s done half the work for us – pretty much all the leg work really – and that ain’t a bad thing. Leaves more time for,’ he slid his arms lower, groped at Sam’s ass, ‘ _other_ things.’

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘You’re impossible’ he told his brother.

Dean grinned. ‘Impossibly handsome’ he countered.

‘Idiot’ Sam said affectionately, and surrendered when Dean lifted a hand to tug and tilt his head downwards, capture his lips in a kiss.

 

**

 

He’d booked the room mere hours after they’d booked theirs.

It had been a stroke of luck that the room directly adjacent was free, but it to be honest it wouldn’t have bothered – or stopped – him if it’d been occupied either. People could always be persuaded to leave. He was good at persuading people.

Real good.

The hole he’d drilled through the walls to the other side, right down in the far corner, so when he lay down on his side and pressed his eye to it he could see, from this angle, the entire room, was basically undetectable. He’d stolen a copy of their room key from the motel manager, let himself in to their side and made _sure_ they wouldn’t notice. He'd even collected some dust, set it around the hole, disguising it a little more, of course making sure not to obscure his view from his side.

It had confused him, at first, the single king-sized bed.

He’d sat on it, when he’d gone into their room – of _course_ he had. He’d _had_ to. Just to feel, just to be where… where _he_ slept. 

And then he’d wondered, why a _single_ king-sized bed?

When the first clue – that hand, the hip, the intimate motion – had come he’d immediately dismissed the idea, the notion. So _ludicrous_. No way. _No fucking way_.

And now he watched.

He watched and he tensed, clenched his fists. He’d already been tense before, just listening to the conversation, could already feel the hatred and anger boiling in his gut from that.

But now.

 _Now_ it was like he would shatter if someone so much as touched him. His eyes tracked as they fell onto the bed, his eyes tracking as Dean mouthed at soft flesh, as his hands groped and touched. He watched as Dean flipped them, so he was atop, watched the grind of their hips.

He pulled back, sat on his haunches, and took a deep breath.

It was _It's_ fault.

It _had_ to be _It'_ s fault.

The _Parasite_ was, after all, the sick, the evil, the _wrong_ one.

He lifted a hand, rubbed his cheek. No matter. He’d free Dean from _It's_ clutches soon.

 _Just a little longer_ , _Dean_ , he thought. _Just endure it a little longer_.

 

**

 

Russ met them the next morning parked opposite of Greg Houser‘s house. As they emerged from the car, Dean made a whistling noise, his eyes skimming over the sleek lines of the dark red Chevy Impala that Russ was standing at.

‘Hey, _sweet_ ride,’ he grinned making an instant bee-line for the car, ‘ _great_ taste.’

Russ grinned back, patted the top of the car. ‘Yeah, she’s a beauty all right.’

Sam’s eyes flickered over Russ, and something tickled in his mind as odd; something off about the flannel, the dark denim jeans, the leather jacket, the spike of his hair. Then it hit him, and Sam almost started laughing.

Russ was dressed almost identical to Dean.

‘What year is she?’ Dean was still prowling around the car, opening the rear door and inspecting the interior.

‘’’66,’ Russ answered.

‘Too bad,’ Dean straightened up, tipped a wink to Russ, ‘you missed out, ’67 was the best year.’

‘Says you’ Russ laughed.

Sam barely contained the roll of his eyes. He wondered if Dean saw the similarities in their clothes, in their car, in their hair, or if his brother was oblivious. A part of him wanted to comment, to point it out, but he resisted the urge. He’d been there – the hero worship of Dean. Hell, hero worshipping Dean had basically been his entire childhood – and he’d done the same thing as Russ; imitated Dean’s clothes, his hair, the way he talked, walked, ate, drank, _everything_. True, he’d been probably _six_ at the time and Russ was, at Sam’s best guess, probably close to _twenty_ six, but still. He got it. He did.

Dean, and Sam looked at his brother, felt the swell of affection in his chest, felt a tiny smile curve his lips, Dean _inspired_ worship. Dean was incredible, and he couldn’t fault the guy for wanting to emulate him. He _couldn’t_. He glanced to Russ, the fond smile still on his lips, and started the tiniest bit at the flash of expression he saw directed at him – the hard, flat face, the steely, hate-filled eyes, fixed with burning intensity on him – 

Sam blinked, took an instinctual step back and the expression was gone from Russ’s face, already replaced with an easy-going grin, and for a moment Sam wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.

‘So, listen,’ Russ pushed off the car as Dean came round, having finally finished his inspection. ‘I was thinking – ’

He broke off as there was a buzzing from his pocket. He fished the phone from his pocket, looked to the other two hunters.

‘Hang on a sec,’ he said, hitting the answer button. ‘Agent Bonam here.’

Russ turned away from them, brow furrowed, listening intently, his voice low and Dean glanced to Sam, gave him a nudge.

‘Don’t sound like good news’ he commented.

‘Hmm’ Sam hummed in response.

‘You ok?’ Dean gave him a once over look.

‘Huh?’ Sam blinked, then glanced at his brother. ‘I – yeah. Just.’

‘Just?’ Dean prompted when Sam didn’t follow up.

Sam bit his lip. Maybe... maybe he was just jealous that Russ seemed to adore Dean so much, and that they would probably have more in common than he and Dean did. Maybe that was why Russ rubbed him the wrong way. And, hell, come to think of it, maybe _Russ_ was jealous of _him_ being with Dean ( _not in_ that _way, Russ didn't know they were together “in_ that _way”, would never even guess in a million years, thank god_ ) and that rubbed _him_ the wrong way and explained the cold-eyed glare –

‘Sam?’ Dean said again.

‘That was the police,’ Russ said suddenly, wheeling back around to them before Sam could answer Dean. ‘Another teen’s died.’

Instantly all thoughts of Russ fled Sam’s mind and for a second he felt a stab of guilt in his stomach for even wasting time thinking petty thoughts of jealousy when kids were _dying_ –

‘Who?’ he asked urgently. ‘What happened?’

‘Rob Getty,’ Russ said. ‘He went to the same school as Deb and Stacey. And chances are, that same party too. Police said he was found in his room, suffocated, no sign of break-in, closed doors and locked windows – same as Deborah.’

‘Probably same water in his lungs too’ Sam murmured.

‘Probably,’ Dean agreed, rubbing his chin. ‘We need to check the body out –’

‘But Greg – ’ Russ interjected. ‘We still – I mean, we need to know what happened to Stacey too. We should still go interview him. Me and you. And he – Sam can check out the new body – ’

It made sense, even if Sam couldn’t help his lips thinning slightly at Russ’s blatant attempt to separate he and Dean. But there was no point in arguing, and kids were dying, and the quicker they solved this case the quicker the teens would be safe.

The fact that it’d also mean the quicker they’d get away from Russ was just another bonus and not a factor _at all_ , Sam told himself.

‘All right,’ he held his hands out to Dean. ‘I’ll take the Impala. Go and check it out.’

Dean looked to Sam, to his outstretched hand, then to Russ. He cleared his throat.

‘Can I – can I talk to you a moment?’ he gestured to Baby.

Sam followed as Dean tugged him away from Russ, catching a glimpse of the other man’s put out face as they went.

‘Dude, I’d say I’ll go with Russ instead, but I doubt he’d go for that’ Sam said once they were out of earshot.

‘What?’ Dean frowned.

‘Russ and you? Tag teaming?’ Sam prompted.

‘Dude, gross – phrasing,’ Dean winced. ‘And I have no idea what you’re on about – ’

‘So this isn’t about you not wanting to be stuck with your clone –’ Sam started.

‘No, it’s not,’ Dean cut across. ‘This is about you.’

‘Me?’ Sam blinked.

‘Yeah, _you_ ,’ Dean shifted a little, ‘I – just. Are you gonna be ok? On your own?’

‘I – you’re joking right, Dean?’

‘No, I’m not – ’ Dean rubbed at his face, then finally met Sam’s eyes. ‘Look, man, I just – with this – this thing in your head – I just – want to make sure you’ll be ok on your own – ’

‘Dean, the Hell Wall isn’t going to crumble just because you’re not around’ Sam sighed.

Dean blew out a breath. ‘Would you just – would you take this seriously, Sam? You didn’t see in Bristol - when - when you - it was - ’ he stopped himself, ran a hand through his hair.

Sam softened a little. ‘Dean, it’ll be fine’ he said softly.

‘Listen, I didn’t even want to take a case right now in the first place,’ Dean said, ‘let alone one where we’re split up and relyin’ on other hunters – ’

‘Dean, I’m just looking at a body,’ Sam said, ‘it’ll be _fine_. Ok? I swear.’

Dean levelled a glare at him. ‘Fine’ he huffed.

Sam kind of wanted to kiss him, would have done if he weren’t so acutely aware of Russ’s eyes on them. The concern, the mother-henning, the overbearing protectiveness drove him mad sometimes, but it was so... so _Dean_ that it melted Sam’s heart.

‘Enjoy hanging with Mini Me’ he grinned as he took the keys from Dean’s hands.

Dean let his fingers linger, brush on Sam’s hand, even as he rolled his eyes and made sure to bump his shoulder as he passed by.

‘Be careful, Sammy’ he ordered.

‘You too’ Sam replied, before folding his lanky form into the impala.

‘Pft, I meant with the car’ Dean fobbed.

‘Of course you did’ Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean watched as Sam shut the door, started the car and reversed back into the street. It was ridiculous, this… niggling fear he got whenever Sam was out of his sight. He was sure the relationship thing they had going on made it worse, amplified the intensity of his protectiveness. Plus a year of no-Sammy, and 6 months of Robo-Sam… well that just amped his co-dependency tenfold.

‘Must be annoying,’ Russ’s voice was quiet, ‘always having to worry about keeping him in check.’

Dean jolted a little, looked to Russ. ‘Huh?’ he blinked.

‘Nothing,’ Russ was smiling again. ‘We ready to go?’

‘Uh, I – yeah,’ Dean said, and wondered if he’d even heard Russ speak at all.

 

**

 

The bar was quiet, all dim lighting and low country and western music playing from the speakers, inhabited by just a few older men, obviously regulars, who sat hunched at the bar, their gazes either fixed on the depths of their steadily cooling beer, or on the flickering television set that, through lines of static, attempted to broadcast the local game.

It was _not_ , in short, the kind of bar Dean would usually go to – there was zero chance of hustling anyone (his quick scope of the pool table led him to surmise that no one had played on it in a long time, the green felt ripped and faded, and the pool cues cracked and dusty), and, if he and Sammy weren’t currently in their... _relationship thing_ (Dean didn’t like to use the term _boyfriends_ , because a) what were they, _twelve_? And b) that single word would never, _ever, ever_ even come _close_ to summarising how _much_ Sam meant to him, how _much_ they meant to each other) there would be zero chance for hooking up with anyone, unless his preferences catered towards old, balding men with potbellies (hint: they did not).

But, it _was_ the bar Russ had dragged him to, enthusiastically telling him that he and his friend who was out of town “always went there” and it was “awesome” and Dean didn’t really have the heart to tell him that it was kind of the exact opposite of awesome. In any case, the extreme quietness meant it was a good location to tuck themselves into a booth to talk details of the case.

Greg Houser, despite being every stereotype of a jock rolled into one and having the probable IQ of a four year old, had actually proved to be helpful for the case. After they’d pressed and needled, the boy had finally caved and told them that they had been bullying Stacey for months, ridiculing her and teasing her and it had all culminated in inviting her as a joke to the party, where they had proceeded to humiliated her, and then she’d effectively left in tears at around midnight, and that had been the last anyone had seen of her.

‘Suicide maybe?’ Russ suggested as he sipped his beer. ‘All the bullying over the past few months, that final night, and she broke and killed herself?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Dean agreed, ‘and it would make sense why she came back an’ startin’ killin’ all the kids who made her life hell.’

‘Pft,’ Russ huffed, ‘these sensitive types, amiright?’

Dean arched an eyebrow. ‘Uh’ he said, momentarily dumbfounded because "sensitive" was the _least_ appropriate term to use at that moment and his warring urge was to smack Russ or at least attempt to correct him -  

‘Your _brother's_ kinda the sensitive type, ain’t he?’ Russ carried on, interrupting his shock.  

Dean’s eyebrows drew together. ‘What?’

‘Nothing – another beer?’ Russ inclined his empty glass towards Dean.

‘I – ’ Dean started.

‘Dean, Russ, hey,’ Sam’s voice interrupted the conversation and Dean glanced up as his brother arrived at the table.

‘Heya, Sammy’ Dean greeted him. Russ made a non-committal noise that Dean supposed might have been a greeting and slid from the booth.

‘I’ll go get that beer’ he said to Dean as he brushed past Sam.

‘You guys get anything from Greg?’ Sam asked as he pulled a chair up from a nearby table and settled down.

Dean stretched his legs out, hooked a foot around Sam’s calf, felt something settle now that his brother was there, was within touching distance.

‘Kinda – turns out they’ve all been basically bullying the poor girl for months, the party invite was a part of it, she left in tears around midnight,’ he answered, ‘so we’re thinkin’ maybe it was the final straw, the thing that broke Stacey enough to suicide.’

Sam sighed long, rubbed at his face. ‘Jesus. God. Ok. Ok. So maybe we’re looking for a suicide spot, probably around water,’ he said aloud.

‘Was the kid another victim?’ Dean asked. 'Rob, uh - Rob Getty?'

‘Hm? Oh yeah, definitely,’ Sam nodded his head. MWater in his lungs, EMF. The same deal as Deborah.’

‘We need a list of all the kids who were at the party,’ Dean mused. ‘Any one of them could be the next victim.’

There was movement and Russ re-joined them, two beers clutched in his hands, sliding back into his seat and pushing one over towards Dean as he took a sip from the other. There was a beat as Sam’s eyes flickered from one beer to the other, and his lips thinned the tiniest bit. Russ seemed to take a moment before he realised.

‘Oh, man, oh, sorry,’ he said, and there was something off about his tone, ‘ _sorry_. Didn’t realise you’d want one too.’

‘That’s fine’ Sam said shortly.

Dean saw Russ give a half-hearted shrug, a smile of apology on his face, and then his eyes flickered down towards the floor, snagged and it took a moment for Dean to realise his foot was still hooked around Sam’s calf. He quickly unhooked it and yanked his leg back. Something odd flickered on Russ’s face.

‘Anyway,’ Dean cleared his throat, tried to move the conversation on. ‘So Sammy was sayin’ we’re probably looking for a suicide spot, around water, ‘s’likely Stacey died the same way as she’s been killin’ her victims – drowned somewhere, hence the water in their lungs –’

‘Actually,’ Russ said, tapping his glass thoughtfully. ‘I think I might know a place. There’s an old water tower not far from the Donohue’s place – wouldn’t have been hard for Stacey to walk there. An’ if you’re determined enough to climb to the top, you jump right off into an old water filled quarry. The entire thing’s fenced off, but kids sneak in all the time.’

‘And they haven’t searched that lake yet?’ Sam queried.

Russ answered Sam's question with his eyes on Dean. ‘The police haven’t dragged it yet, probably still workin’ on the theory that Stacey’s a runaway,’ he continued, ‘besides which, none of them would wanna entertain the idea of suicide or foul play.’

Dean nodded and made a decision. It _was_ starting to grate a little, Russ’s attitude to Sam, and Dean was tired and, after a day’s separation from his brother, he just wanted to get back and relax with Sam.

He clapped both his hands together, rose from the table. ‘Right, well, looks like we’ve got a lead – why don’t we turn in for the night, then all check it out first thing tomorrow mornin’ yeah?’

‘ _All_ of us?’ Russ frowned.

‘Many hands make light work an’ all that,’ Dean waved a hand.

‘Just – just thought maybe S - _someone_ should keep an eye on the kids,’ Russ hurried to say, eyes flickering to Sam as he spoke. ‘To make sure nothing happens.’

‘The sooner we find Stacey and torch her, the sooner those kids _will_ be safe,’ Dean countered, ‘and it’ll be quicker with _all_ of us looking.’

‘Right,’ Russ looked at his beer. ‘Right.’

‘Coming Sammy?’ Dean tugged on his brother’s sleeve and Sam rose to follow him.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ Russ called quietly.

‘Can’t wait’ Dean heard Sam mutter, and he bit back the laugh that bubbled on his lips.

 

**

 

He watched Dean.

Of _course_ he watched Dean. Who else would he watch? The hunter’s head was thrown back on the pillow, body arched, and he tracked the beads of sweat that ran down Dean’s neck, Dean’s bare chest, watched as Dean’s mouth moved in small, stuttered gasps, watched the way Dean’s abs tightened and twitched. He tried not to look between Dean’s legs, tried not to acknowledge the shaggy head that bobbed there, the way one of Dean’s hands threaded through the locks, gripped them tight, the other interlocked with... _the Parasite's_ hand, gripping it tightly.

‘ _S-sammy_ ’ Dean managed to get out, and then gave a moan, his back arching.

Dean’s asking _It_ to stop, he told himself, Dean doesn’t want this. That’s why Dean’s saying... _It's_ name, because Dean wants _It_ to stop.

He pulled back from the hole in the wall, sat back on his haunches, tried to steady the suddenly increased breathing, the rapid thundering of his heard, the pulsing low in his –

No, he needed to focus. He needed to forget what was happening in the other room, what _It_ was doing to Dean.

He had work to do tonight.

 

**

 

‘ _Fuck_ ’ Dean got out.

He tugged at the shaggy locks of his brother’s hair, felt heady and light-headed from the wet, hot suction around his cock, from the pleasure building and swirling in his gut, because Christ, _Christ_ Sammy knew his way around a blowjob, knew how to turn Dean on his head, make him dizzy with pleasure – he could feel it building in his gut, feel the pleasure mounting and he tugged again.

‘Gonna come,’ he stuttered, ‘Sammy – _fuck_ – gonna – ’

Sam didn’t pull off, didn’t pull back, just sucked harder, did something with his tongue to the small bundle of nerves beneath the head of Dean’s cock and – and that was it. He was _done_. _Gone_. His orgasm crashed through him in waves, a long drawn out groan of pleasure escaping his lips. He felt Sam release his cock, and fumblingly dragged the younger man up, yanked his face roughly down and capture his lips in a kiss, tongue pushing into Sam’s mouth, groaning at the taste of himself in there. Sam was grabbing the side of his face, kissing back just as hard, and Dean felt the slick slide of his brother’s still hard cock rutting against his hip. He reached with his free hand, wrapped it around Sam’s cock and started a rhythm, hard and fast, ate the moan from Sam’s mouth, felt Sam break the kiss, pant into his mouth, felt his younger brother tense and made sure he watched, he watched as Sam came, watched the gasp escape his swollen lips, watched the way his whole body shuddered because, _fuck_ , it was one of his favourite parts, watching Sam fall apart, knowing he was the one ( _the only one now_ , he told himself) who got to see this, got to witness this -

Sam half slumped, head falling into the crook between Dean’s neck and shoulder and Dean released his spent cock, untangled his fingers from Sam’s hair and let his hand slide down the sweaty, long, lean expanse of Sam’s back. He felt Sam’s soft breaths against his skin, could feel the thundering of Sam’s heart where they pressed together, chest to chest.

 _I love this_ , he thought, and then, _I love you_.

‘Get off bitch, you’re heavy’ is what he said aloud, because he was Dean Winchester.

‘Fuck you’ Sam replied idly, but he rolled off to one side on to his back.

Dean sat up, allowed himself a soft, fond smile at Sam’s closed eyes and totally relaxed face, all tension gone. He grabbed a discarded shirt from the side of the bed and wiped off his hand and stomach, before tossing it back to the ground. He glanced back to see Sam watching him.

‘Better not have been my tshirt’ Sam said.

‘Hey, your jizz, your shirt to clean it off’ Dean countered.

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean flopped back down on the bed, wriggling and sliding an arm underneath Sam so he could roll the younger man into his side, his arm looping around the kid’s shoulders, resting on his bicep.

‘You tryna cuddle me, Dean?’ Sam teased.

‘Shuddup’ Dean retorted, and was mostly glad that the darkness hid the faint blush on his cheeks.

They lay in a silence a moment and Dean closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, prepared himself for sleep when Sam spoke again.

‘Are we gonna talk about it?’

Dean reopened his eyes, blinked. ‘About…? The incest thing? Cause, dude, I’m pretty sure we’re beyond talkin’ about that.’

Sam huffed. ‘No, idiot, of course not that – ’

‘Russ then?’ Dean arched an eyebrow.

He felt Sam give a little shudder. ‘God no. Not him,’ he gave a roll of his eyes. ‘I just… you know. I noticed we haven’t, uh,’ he cleared his throat a little awkwardly, ‘uh, done… _certain stuf_ f. Since I got my soul back.’

Dean was lost. ‘Dude, you’re gonna have to be a little clearer. I honestly have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.’

Sam let out an impatient sigh. ‘You haven’t fucked me since I got my soul back,’ he said bluntly. ‘That’s what I’m trying to ask.’

Dean blinked. ‘Oh.’

Then, he shifted a little. ‘I – jeez Sammy, horn dog much’ he gave a little laugh and hoped Sam didn’t realise it was forced.

Because, _Christ_ , he hadn’t thought Sam had noticed, hadn’t realised his brother had picked up on that – but he _should_ have, of course, he should have realised, because Sammy was nothing if not sharp.

‘Dean, I’m serious’ he could hear the frown in Sam’s voice.

Dean tugged his arm out from under Sam. ‘Jeez, Sam, what – I mean – it hasn’t even –’

‘Is it – is it because of something I did?’ Sam’s voice was small, tiny and it almost broke Dean’s heart. ‘When I was – when I was soulless?’

A thrill of horror went through Dean, and he rolled to face Sam, grabbed his chin, tugged his head up to lock eyes. ‘No – _no_ , Christ, _no_ Sammy, it’s not – it’s nothing like that – I – Christ, no Sam. This isn’t – it’s nothing to do with you, ok?’

Sam bit at his lip. ‘Then – Dean – what?’

‘It’s the Wall’ Dean blurted out.

‘The Wall?’ Sam blinked. ‘The _Hell_ Wall? You think – I mean, Dean you’re good in bed, but not _wall-shatteringly_ good – ’

‘It’s not funny, Sammy,’ Dean said sharply, and released Sam’s chin, rolled flat onto his back. ‘I don’t – we don’t know – what could trigger – ’

Something tightened a little in Dean’s chest, he swallowed hard.

‘Fuck, Sammy, you don’t know what my – the images my brain comes up with for what those sick sonsabitches did to you in the pit – I – _fuck_ – I can hardly stand it sometimes,’ his words came out soft, halting, ‘and I just – all I can think – is if _they_   did – if _they_ – then when _we_ – it could –’

He stopped, felt a sour taste in his mouth, felt sick. Sam was quiet, too quiet. He wanted Sam to tell him _no_ , that they never did _that_ to him, that they never touched him _that_ way. _He wanted Sam to assure him_.

‘Dean,’ Sam said, and he shifted to put his head on Dean’s chest. ‘I can’t – you know. All that Hell. I can’t remember… so I can’t… I can’t promise they didn’t… but you know… you know with you it’s different. It’ll _always_ be different. It’s _you_ , Dean. You could never – I’d never feel unsafe with you.’

Dean swallowed hard. His shifted his arm to slid around Sam’s waist. He felt a tension build a little in his younger brother as Sam drew a breath and started to speak again.

‘Unless – unless it changes something with _you_ , thinking that they – ’

‘Sammy,’ Dean gusted out a long breath. ‘Don’t – _fuck_ , dude. Don’t even think that. You _know_ it wouldn’t. Never.’

The tension faded instantly and Sam let out a little breath.

‘Ok,’ he said softly, ‘ok.’

There was a beat of silence between them.

‘So, uh, wanna fuck?’ Dean joked weakly.

Sam gave a bark of laughter and Dean felt him shake his head.

‘Funnily enough, not really in the mood right now,’ he smiled. ‘Raincheck?’

‘Yeah, sounds good’ Dean grinned.

He felt Sam settled against him, and gazed at the roof, letting his eyes track through the darkness.

‘You know, ah, back to the whole Russ thing,’ he said aloud, ‘I mean, man. He does _not_ like you.’

Sam huffed. ‘You’re telling me,’ he muttered.

Dean chuckled. ‘Hey, well, tomorrow we’ll find that poor girl’s remains, put her to rest an’ then we won’t have to deal with him anymore.’

‘Thank _god_ ’ Sam said.

‘Unless, you know, you wanted to stick around, hang out with him a little long – ’

‘I will _kill_ you’ Sam said bluntly.

Dean burst out laughing.

 

**

 

When they emerged from the hotel room the next morning, heading into the carpark, Sam was more than a little startled to see Russ already waiting for them, his red impala parked alongside Baby.

‘When did you tell him what motel we were staying at?’ he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Dean.

‘ _I_ never told him,’ Dean retorted. ‘ _You_ musta done.’

‘ _Right_ , because he and I chat _so_ often’ Sam shot back.

‘Look, dude’s a hunter, course he’d find out where we’re stayin’’ Dean told him.

‘And that’s not creepy at all, right?’ Sam answered.

‘Be nice, Sammy’ Dean admonished him, before they both finally lapsed into silence and reached where the other hunter was waiting for them.

Russ pushed off from where he was leaning against his car, turned behind himself and grabbed a tray of coffees from where they were balanced on the roof of his car. For a second Sam tensed, eyes flickering to the tray, before he realised, with no small amount of surprise, that there were actually three coffees, not two.

‘Hey,’ Russ greeted them, ‘thought I’d meet you guys here, bring you some coffee.’

He tugged one from the coffee holder, held it to Sam, who took it with a half smile.

‘That’s – uh, that’s really nice, thanks Russ’ he said.

He took a sip and tried not to pull a face at the overt sweetness. _It was the thought that counted right_?

‘And here – black coffee, how you like it,’ Russ smiled at Dean. ‘Actually, funny story, it’s how I take my coffee too.’

 _Of course it is_ , Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, took another sip of the coffee. Caffeine was caffeine after all, excessive sweetness aside.

‘So listen, though, bad news,’ Russ frowned a little, ‘I got a call this morning; another teen was attacked last night. She’s been swearin’ up and down that it was a girl who appeared from thin air in her bedroom, won’t outright say it was Stacey, but,’ he shrugged, ‘you know. A girl who appeared out of nowhere? Sounds like a safe bet. Anyway, she says, and I quote, it felt like she was “drowning.” But her older sister opened the door and the I guess it must’ve scared Stacey away before she could finish the job. The girl’s pretty shaken up, but she’s ok. I just think… maybe, uh, maybe _someone_ ,’ his eyes flickered to Sam, ‘maybe someone should go there today, keep an eye on the girl. Just in case. I mean, if we’re gonna be rifling around where Stacey’s body is, she might get angry, take it out on the girl, you know? So maybe if we split up…’

 _And there it is_ , Sam though, biting back a sigh. He really shouldn’t be surprised. The coffee was clearly intended to sweeten him up ( _pun intended_ , he thought to himself). Dean tossed a look in his direction and Sam lifted a hand to run it through his hair.

‘I’ll go keep an eye on the girl – you got the address?’ he said, because what would be the point in arguing or waiting. ‘You guys go look for Stacey’s remains.’

If Russ’s face brightened any more, it would have eclipsed the damn sun, Sam thought. 

‘Yeah – I – yeah that sounds like a good idea, I’ve got it right here,’ Russ yanked out a piece of paper with the address already scrawled on it, handing it to Sam, ‘this’ll be good, right, Dean?’ he turned eagerly to the older Winchester.

Dean huffed a noise, gave a barely indecipherable shake of his head. ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure,’ he dug into his pocket for the keys. ‘You take the Impala, Sammy.’

Sam caught the keys on reflex as Dean tossed them to him. ‘Be care – ’

There was a sudden pain, sharp and slicing, straight through his gut, and Sam’s words broke off in a gasp, his body jolting, hand grabbing at his stomach. In an instant, Dean was at his side, grabbing his arm.

‘Sammy? What – what is it? Is it your head? Sam?’ he demanded.

Sam sucked in a breath, cautiously straightened up, the pain gone as fast as it had come. He swallowed, rubbed at his cheek.

‘Just – I – I’m fine,’ he tugged his arm from Dean’s grip, ‘’s’nothing.’

Dean was still staring at him, face clouded in worry. ‘Maybe we should – ’ he gestured back to the motel.

‘No, no, Dean, I’m fine,’ Sam tried to smile reassuringly, ‘ _really_. It was nothing. Probably just because I haven’t had breakfast.’

Dean’s eyes flickered over him in an appraising glance, then he set his mouth in a long line. ‘Well, make sure you pick something up on the way’ he ordered.

Sam gave an affectionate eye roll and headed to the impala. ‘Yes, _mother_ ’ he called back.

‘I mean it Sam’ Dean said sharply.

‘Be careful looking for Stacey’ was all Sam said back as he folded into the Impala.

He started the car, stopped as a sudden hot flush ran from the tips of his toes through his body, a wave of sudden dizziness washing over him. He sucked in a breath, swallowed, blinked a few times, the world righting itself one more.

 _Definitely need some food_ , he thought.

He waved a hand to Dean and Russ, Dean watching with worried eyes, Russ, sipping his coffee with an inscrutable look on his face, then pulled out of the carpark and headed towards the newest victim’s house.

 

**

 

The breakfast sandwich, ordered hastily from a takeaway shop on the way to the attack victim’s house and eaten in the carpark while he changed into his FBI gear from the car boot, was _not_ sitting well in Sam’s stomach.

He now sat parked across from the attack victim's house, hands gripping the steering wheel of Baby tightly, breathing in slow through his mouth, out through his nose. The nausea was swirling in his gut, tight and painful, the half eaten sandwich roiling, unsettled and Sam found himself swallowing convulsively, trying to keep the rising bile back.

He let go of the steering wheel, sat back and watched as his hands shook and trembled like they had a mind of their own. He lifted one and swiped it across his brow, surprised to find the slick of sweat clinging to it, surprised because there was a chill in his bones, a shiver running up and down his spine, a coldness he couldn’t shake. And with it, with this coldness, there was something - it reminded him of _something_ \- something that sat on the edge of his consciousness, something dark and ominous he didn’t want to look too closely at, something held at bay from tumbling forward – _Hell_.

Sam rubbed at his eyes, sucked in a breath.

 _Nut up Winchester_ , he told himself firmly. _Kids are dying and you have the chills and stomach-ache. Get a grip_.

He opened the door, slipped from the car, straightened up and instantly grabbed a hold of the side of the Impala, the world spinning wildly on its axis, tilting, a wave of dizziness momentarily blurring his vision, his knees buckling slightly. He caught himself, breathing hard, blinked a few times until his vision cleared, then ran a hand through his hair.

He briefly entertained calling Dean, saying that maybe he was sick, maybe he had come down with something, but then instantly dismissed it. Six months of enduring Robo-Sam, six months of having to keep him in check, and now he contemplating bothering Dean _again_ about a _stomach-ache_?

 _Suck it up, idiot_ , he thought angrily.

He closed the impala door, straightened his tie, tried to ignore the sweat he could feel trickling down his back, and headed towards the house. He knocked once when he was out the front, stepped back and waited, lifting a hand to wipe his brow, feeling the sweat that trickled down his hairline. The door opened and a woman, about her late twenties, opened it, the disinterested, slightly annoyed look on her face lasting all of the five seconds it took for her to look him up and down, before it instantly transformed into a wide, beaming smile.

‘ _Hello_ there,’ she jutted a hip, leant against the door frame. ‘How can I help _you_?’

Sam tugged his badge out, fumbled a little, fingers sweaty and shaking, and finally managed to hold it out to the woman. ‘Agent Parker,’ he said, ‘FBI. I was wondering if I could have a chat to a Anna Kaye about the incident last night?’

The woman gave a cursory glance to the ID, more focused on raking her eyes up and down Sam’s form. ‘Anna? Last night?’ she seemed to realize, and rolled her eyes, ‘oh _that_. Right. Yeah, Anna’s my little sister. I’m Melanie, by the way and – I mean - she was just playing a prank, I wouldn’t – she was just trying to cash in on all those deaths that happened recently. She's a little brat like that.’

Sam tucked his badge back away. ‘Uh, still, if I could just – ’

Mel stepped back, waving a hand down the hallway. ‘Oh yeah, I mean, you’re totally welcome to come in anyway. And sit with me. I mean – Anna’s out but she’ll be back in like, ten minutes and we can,’ she paused, smiled, ‘we can _chat_. Come in – I’ll – the lounge is through here –’

She turned and trotted down the hallway, and Sam made to follow her, took three steps inside and felt the world tilt, swell beneath his feet, a rush of blood to his head making him dizzy, and he stumbled, half fell to one side, thrust a hand out and grabbed the wall for support.

‘Just through – _oh_!’ Mel had turned back, started a bit and stepped towards him. ‘Are you – is everything ok?’

Sam took a deep breath, closed his eyes against the spinning world, the dancing black dots and counted to five.

 _You’re fine_ , he told himself, _you’re fine_.

He reopened his eyes, the world was right once more, and Mel was inching towards him, a confused look on her face. Sam straightened slowly, let go of the wall and tried to smile at her.

‘Sorry – just,’ he cleared his throat, ‘just – nothing. I’m fine.’

Mel raised an eyebrow. ‘If you say so,’ she answered, then turned and gestured into the lounge. ‘Here, come in and sit – you know – you know, I’m actually training to be a naturopath, so, like, maybe I can have a look if you’re not feeling well, I can see if I can prescribe a natural remedy or something –’

‘Really, it’s ok,’ Sam interrupted her chattering as he lowered himself into the chair.

‘Are you sure?’ rather than sit in the chair opposite, Mel promptly sat herself next to him, turning her body to face him. ‘Like, I’ve been studying eyes, you know – and sometimes you can tell by the tiniest fleck, if I just look into your eyes –‘

She leant in close and Sam made a noise and leant back. ‘Uh, really – ’

‘Or acupuncture – if I massage certain points in your body – ’ Mel waggled her eyebrows.

‘When did you – ah, when did you say Anna would be home?’ Sam shifted back an inch.

‘Oh, another ten minutes, maybe longer’ Mel said dismissively, and shifted forward an inch.

‘Do you – do you mind if I – maybe – a glass of water?’ Sam said hurriedly.

Mel shifted back, made a little pouting face. ‘Sure, I’ll just get one for you’ she said, getting to her feet.

She gave him a smile. ‘Be right back.’

 _It was odd_ , Sam thought, _how that could almost sound like a threat_.

He settled back in the couch, rubbed his cheek, tugged at his tie. _Christ_ , when did it get so hot in here? Sam could’ve sworn just before that he was cold. Now it felt like he was boiling, sweat trickling down his spine, absolutely boiling –

_Burning…_

Sam swallowed hard, rubbed his eyes, tried to rid the image of flickering flames from his gaze.

 _Don’t think about it_ , he told himself, _don’t think about it._

His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he sucked in a breath, put a hand to his gut, tried to will it to settle. Regretted eating the damn sandwich, drinking the damn too-sweet coffee. There was a sharp stab of pain, low in his abdomen, and Sam bent over a little, gave a gasp. Bile rose to the back of his throat, the overwhelming nausea mingling with the second stab of pain in his stomach. He gave a groan, tried to breath through his nose, but a sour taste was building in the back of his throat.

Christ, he was going to be sick.

He half staggered to his feet, blindly, feeling the world spinning, his legs feeling like rubber, feeling hot – _too hot, too hot_ – all over –

‘ – added lemon slices to it because, you know, it’s supposed to,’ Mel chattered as she re-entered the room, before she stopped dead, ‘hey, are you ok?’

‘Bath – room’ Sam managed to get out.

‘Across the hall,’ Mel said, starting forward, ‘is everything – ’

Sam didn’t listen to her, didn’t pay attention, half stumbled across the wall, banged into the doorframe of the bathroom, the world blurring and spinning, the pain amplifying in his stomach, his body shaking and hot – _hot_ – flame, _heat_ , burning – _oh god he was burning_ –

Then he tumbled forward, all but fell onto the toilet, retched once and promptly threw up the contents of his stomach.


	2. Chapter Two

If there was one thing Dean could say that was a bonus to hunting with Sam (although, if he was honest, he could say far more than just one thing really, but hell if he'd tell Sam that) it was that his brother knew when to be quiet.

Sam could talk, sure, _especially_ if you got him started on some nerdy topic – _oh boy_ , could he _talk_ then. There had been many a time Sam had started on one of his long rambles about something that Dean really couldn’t care less about and he’d had to sit there, with a fondly amused smile, listening to the Geek Boy ramble on. And, also, many a time, when he’d simply thrown something at Sam’s head and told him to shut the hell up (hey, he was still an older brother, sexy times or no).

But, regardless of that, when it came to hunting, Sam knew when to keep quiet.

Like when they searched side-by-side in the woods, looking for a body, for example. He knew that was _not_ the time to ramble. Hell, it was more often that _Dean_ would be the one making inane comments and _Sam_ would be telling _him_ to shut up and pay attention in case a ghost/monster/whatever got the drop on them.

Russ... Russ on the other hand – Russ liked to talk. _A lot_.

‘ – so it was a demon, you know? And he took out both my parents, I musta been nineteen? Twenty? Course I had no idea what he was, just thought it was a serial killer or something, you know?’ Russ was saying as he walked a half a step behind Dean. ‘Until the dude’s eyes turned black – that was when I knew something was up – ’

It was a tragic story, it _was_ , Dean thought; the guy losing his parents to demons and that being his gateway into the hunter life. It was tragic, sad – _but_ also _not_ the time to be telling said story. Not when they were tramping through the woods on-route to find the possibly partially decomposing corpse of a teenage suicide. And - _and_ on top of that, Dean _hadn’t even asked the goddamn question_ of how he'd started hunting. Russ – he was weird, he was a good hunter, probably, sure, but _weird_ , and Dean was with Sammy on the whole “hopefully never gonna have to talk to this dude ever again” plan. So getting into each other’s life stories? Not really something Dean was keen to do.

Besides which, after everything in his whole life – “hey, a demon killed my parents too, oh, and infected my brother with demon blood, and I went to Hell, also we almost started the apocalypse, but it got stopped when my brother dived into Satan’s pit with the Devil himself, and then came back without a soul, but now he has one, only it relies on a flimsy Hell Wall that Death put up to keep him from crumbling into insanity…”

Yeah, after everything in _his_ life? Dean was less inclined to be sympathetic hearing about other people’s sob stories. Call him selfish, but he had enough on his damn plate.

‘ – so I started researching and lookin’ into stuff and – well, you know, I found – I mean I found all these books – ’ Russ rambled. ‘These books that just – just opened my eyes to what was out there – to the _people_ in the world – the _monsters_ – and I just – I wanted to make it my mission to rescue… rescue people from the clutches of monsters, you know? Monsters – and sometimes – they look – just like everyone else, so it’s hard, right? It’s hard but you gotta do it, right? You gotta - ’

‘Listen, Russ –’ Dean interrupted, rubbing his temple.

‘Oh! Hey – look the – it’s through here, the lake’ Russ picked up the pace suddenly, moving through the trees.

Dean followed as they emerged on the edge of the shallow lake, the muddied water looking bleak and ominous. He glanced up at the rusted water tower, the perilous looking ladder that led up its side, the rungs all but rusted through, cracked and dangerous looking. He tugged his EMF from his pocket.

‘Check for signs of EMF I guess?’ he said. ‘Before we dive in and start pawin’ through muddy water?’

‘Sounds good to me’ Russ agreed.

Dean flicked the EMF meter on, watched as the lights light up, a noise emitting faintly.

‘Bingo,’ he muttered. ‘Looks like this is where we’ll find Stacey.’

‘Shoulda bought some gumboots’ Russ joked as he peered at the small lake.

Dean pulled a face, looked to his boots and jeans, sighed a little. The glamourous life of a hunter; trawling through a lake in search of a body.

 _Livin’ your best life, Winchester_ , he thought wryly.

He dug into his pockets to grab his keys, wallet and phone – not wanting any of them to get wet – and tugged out his phone the exact second it went off with a shrill ringing. Russ started at the noise, turning around.

‘You – you get reception out here?’ he looked confused, almost annoyed. ‘I didn’t think – ’

Dean hit the answer button. ‘Sammy?’ he said.

There was a beat on the other end of the line, before a female voice spoke. ‘Uh – no? Sorry – I just – umm – is this Dean?’

In an instant Dean was on edge. ‘Who is this? Where’s Sam?’ he demanded, turning from the lake.

‘Sam? You mean Agent Parker?’ the voice answered. ‘I don’t – he’s really sick. He’s, uh, he’s been throwing up, and I wanted to call the ambulance or check his eyes, but he just said to call Dean so I got his phone and called you and I really think he needs to go to the doctors, and I’m a naturopath but not a doctor, so I can’t really do anything but – just – uh – can you maybe come?’

Dean went all at once hot then cold. Tried to fumble through sentences like “ _really sick_ ” and “ _ambulance_ ” and “ _check his eye_ s” (because, _what_?).

‘Where are you?’ his voice came out harsher than he intended.

The girl rattled off an address. ‘So you’ll come then?’ she continued. ‘It’s just – ’

Dean hung up the call, wheeled to Russ. ‘We need to go – _now_ ’ he rapped out.

‘What?’ Russ took a step back. ‘Dean – the body – ’

‘Something’s happened to Sam,’ Dean cut across him, stuck his hand out, ‘give me your keys, I’m driving – we’ve gotta go now – ’

Russ didn’t move. Dean kind of wanted to punch him.

‘The case,’ the other hunter insisted, ‘the body – surely _that’s_ more important – ’

‘Russ, man, you either give me the keys now, or I punch you and get them myself’ Dean interrupted bluntly.

Something flickered across Russ’s face briefly, then he was digging the keys out and holding them out, a tight smile curving his lips.

‘Of course – of course – Sam needs us’ he said.

Dean barely listened, grabbing the keys and turning, taking off at a run through the trees. Russ could follow him or Russ could stay behind, Dean focus right now was on the most important thing.

Sam

 

**

 

Russ, as it turned out, _did_ follow him, although Dean started the car and began to take off, a squeal of tires and burn of rubber, before the other hunter had even fully climbed into the car, Russ making a squeaking noise and flailing as he dragged his legs in and closed the door of the moving car. Under any other circumstances, Dean might have found it kind of funny, but it was hard to focus on anything else besides getting to Sam.

He pulled up at Anna's house behind where Baby was parked and all but leapt from the car, tossing the keys back to Russ over his shoulder as he took off at a jog. He rapped impatiently on the door and it swung open to reveal a younger woman with wide, worried eyes.

‘Oh! Are you – ’ she started.

Dean pushed right past her into the house in two long strides. She made a startled noise, turning.

‘Um – ’ she said.

‘Sammy?!’ Dean yelled.

‘The bathroom – ’ the woman floundered.

Dean reached the bathroom, yanked the door open and walked in. Sam was hunched over the toilet, a trembling, shaking mess, skin pale and clammy, sweat seeping not only through his shirt but through the FBI suit jacket, his hair hanging in his face and it was a marvel how someone _so_ tall, _so_ solid, could look _so goddamn_ small and pitiful in that moment. Dean was at his side in a second, dropping to a crouch.

‘Sammy’ he said.

Sam lifted his head and turned to face him, face white-as-a-sheet, shining with sweat, his  eyes glassy and bloodshot.

‘De’ he said, and his voice was croaky and hoarse, shot to hell.

‘Aw, kiddo’ Dean murmured, shifting closer, reaching to cup the side of Sam’s face.

There was a noise from the doorway and he glanced to see the woman still hovering.

‘Could you – ah – is there a spare bucket we could borrow?’ he asked.

The woman wrung her hands. ‘Are you sure – an ambulance – ’ she stammered.

‘No,’ Dean cut across firmly, ‘I’ll take him home. Just – just a bucket, ok?’

The woman bobbed her head and vanished and Dean turned back to Sam. Sam blinked blearily at him and his head sagged forward, fell onto Dean’s shoulder.

‘Don’t feel s’good’ he mumbled.

Dean lifted a hand, reached to feel Sam’s forehead. He let out a hissing breath.

‘Not surprised, darlin’, you’re burnin’ up like a furnace’ he muttered.

He felt Sam shift, make a little moaning noise, one hand coming to clutch at Dean’s shirt front.

‘Dean,’ it was a whimper, ‘ _Dean_.’

Then Sam half fell, half lurched back over the toilet, making a retching noise and Dean couldn’t stop the wince as he reached to push Sam’s hair back with one hand, the other coming to stroke his back.

‘Easy, easy, Sammy, you’re ok, you’re ok’ he muttered.

He bit his lip, felt his own guts churn in sympathy as Sam coughed and spat, strings of bile and saliva hanging from his lips.

‘What did you eat, huh?’ he murmured. ‘Whatever it was, it ain’t sitting well with you.’

Sam listed forward and Dean tugged him away from the toilet, scooted back so Sam fell against his chest. He reached and wiped gently at Sam’s mouth.

Sam made a noise, head lolling. ‘Gross’ he muttered.

Dean couldn’t stop a soft laugh. ‘You’re gross’ he teased back gently.

He heard the woman return, sensed her hover behind them. He shifted, slid a hand into Sam’s pocket to fish out the keys from the impala.

‘Think you can stand, Sammy?’ he asked quietly.

Sam’s head bobbed in an approximation of a nod, sweaty bangs falling into his face. Dean carefully eased them both to standing, one arm around Sam’s shoulder, the other around his front, holding him steady, the younger man all but leaning his full weight onto him, his breathing ragged and harsh. Sam’s head lolled onto his shoulder.

‘Hot, Dean,’ he whispered, ‘feel s’hot, s’hot…’

The heat was all but radiating from Sam and Dean could feel it seep through his own clothes just from the press of his brother alongside him. His worry spiked, and he swallowed.

‘I’ll bet,’ he said softly, ‘don’t worry, Sammy, we’ll get you to the motel, get you cooled down, ok? You’re gonna be ok, kiddo, gonna be just fine.’

The woman scuttled behind them, bucket in one hand as Dean hauled Sam down the hallway, out the open door. She wafted her free hand.

‘Are you sure – I could call an ambulance – ’ she stammered.

‘’M’fine’ Sam mumbled.

‘Hear that? He’s -’ Dean started to say.

‘Dean,’ Sam suddenly pulled to a halt near the impala, pushed away from Dean, away from the car, fell to all four and vomited on the ground.

‘- fine’ Dean finished, ‘Jesus Christ, Sammy.’

He dropped down next to the younger man, caught him as he listed forward, almost fell face first into the puddle.

‘Didn – didn’ – in th’car,’ Sam slurred. ‘No vomit in th’car.’

Dean couldn’t help a laugh. ‘Yeah, Sammy, that’s the rule’ he agreed softly, ‘now c’mon, let’s get you up.’

He heaved Sam to his feet, opened the door and bundled him across the bench seats carefully, slid a hand to cup the side of his face, feel the heat that radiated. He bit his lip, took a moment to swallow the worry, then drew back. The woman stood with the bucket and he promptly took it from her hands.

‘Thanks,’ he said, and settled the bucket in Sam’s lap with a muttered, ‘just in case.’

‘He was just – I mean – he came to ask about Anna and then just – ’ she waved a hand.

‘Right, uh, about that – jus’ – y’know – if you think of anything about what happened to Anna, uh, anythin’ weird or… whatever… we’re at the Hawkin Motel -‘

’Anything weird’ the woman repeated in a voice that said “like this?”

’Uh we’ll give you the bucket back at some point’ Dean added, already getting into the car.

‘The bucket’ the woman echoed faintly.

‘Goodbye, ma’am,’ Dean said, and started the car, promptly pulled off from the side of the road and heading towards the motel.

It didn’t occur to him, then, to think of the fact that Russ hadn’t followed him into the house, hadn’t come with him, that the red impala was already gone, had already left without so much as checking on the younger Winchester.

 

**

 

By the time Dean wrangled Sam from the car into the motel room, the younger man was a shaking, trembling mess, eyes glazed over, a flush high on his cheekbones, the heat emanating from his body. As they tumbled into the motel, Sam’s legs buckled and he went down, dragging Dean with him, the both of them hitting the ground on their knees.

‘Whoa – Jesus – ’ Dean managed.

‘Hot, s’hot, s’hot,’ Sam mumbled, and listed into Dean. ‘Dean, pl’s, s’hot, _please_ – ’

Something was tightening on Dean’s heart, twisting tighter at each of Sam's piteous whimpers.

‘Sammy – ’

‘Please – Dean – don’t lemme burn, please,’ Sam moaned, and his fingers scrabbled weakly at Dean’s shirtfront. ‘Don’t lemme burn – Dean – _please_ – ’

Dean suddenly felt cold all over, fell the swell of horror, of fear in his chest, and he grabbed Sam’s chin, wrenched it up, tried to meet the wildly rolling gaze, the seemingly unseeing eyes.

‘Hey – _hey_ , Sammy – stop, there’s no burning, ok? You’re _not_ burning, ok?’ he snapped.

Sam gave a sob and tears started to form in his eyes. ‘Dean,’ he whispered, ‘ _Dean_ – please – burning – he’s – he’s – ’

‘Fuck,’ Dean snarled, then louder, ‘ _fuck_! Shit – Sam – just – stop – ok – you’re not – you’re not _there_ – c’mon – ’ he started to haul Sam to his feet, to drag him to the bathroom, ‘stay with me, you hear, Sammy? Stay with me god dammit!’

He staggered into the bathroom, half collapsed, back to the wall, in the shower stall, Sam’s back to his chest, both of their legs a sprawled, tangled mess, and he reached up, grappled with the shower tap, twisted it and turned the cold water on full blast. The first spray of the icy water was a shock to the system, made him suck in a breath, whole body shuddering, but he ignored it, pushed through. He cupped one hand under the water, the other clutching Sam to his chest and each time the cupped hand filled with meagre amounts of water, he was stroking it onto Sam’s face, into his hair, even as the rest of icy water fell on them.

‘C’mon, c’mon,’ he muttered, ‘you’re ok, you’re ok – ’

Sam wriggled in his arms, made a noise, head twisting as if trying to dodge the water.

‘Don’t – _no_ – ’ he groaned, trying to fight Dean weakly, ‘stopit – s’hurts – _hurts_ – ’

‘Sssh, shh, easy, I know, I know, kiddo,’ Dean clutched him tighter, held him still, ‘I know, but it’ll make you better, ok, it’ll make you better I promise – ’

By the time the heat of Sam’s body had abated, Dean entire sodden body was shaking with cold, his teeth chattering, the cold biting through the layers of clothing, soaking to his skin, and Sam had thrown up twice in the shower. Sam had finally turned a still warmish, but at least not burning with the heat of a thousand suns temperature and Dean reached up to turn the water off. He then carefully manhandled Sam to perch on the toilet, propped him up against the toilet cistern and stripped him from his sodden clothes. He wrapped the towel around his younger brother and, still dripping himself, walked him to the bed before lying him down.

Sam immediately rolled to one side, curling in on himself, his body still shaking, eyelids flickering. Dean tore off his own clothes, tossing them into the corner with a mental note that those would be needed to be burned because there was no way they would recover from the soaking and vomit splatters. He tugged on some sweatpants, then sat down on the side of the bed, putting a hand to Sam’s head and pushing the wet hair back from his forehead.

‘Jesus _Christ_ , kiddo,’ he breathed out, and rubbed his face, ‘you just… you never do things by halves, do ya? Can’t just get food poisoning, gotta go the whole hog.’

He shook his head a little. ‘Scared me half to death.’

Sam’s eyes fluttered and he blinked sluggishly up at him. ‘S’rry’ he muttered.

‘Shuddup, nothin’ t’be sorry for’ Dean grumbled. ‘Let’s just get through the night, yeah?’

Because, he figured, it was going to be a damn long one.

 

**

 

When Sam woke up the next morning, it felt like his eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, and he struggled a moment to open them. His head was pounding, a pulsing, continuous throb, his mouth tasted foul and his stomach – his stomach was still roiling, a pervading nausea still settled in his gut, and his abs ached like he’d been doing sit-ups all night. He felt shaky and weak, his head cloudy and fuzzy, and an uncomfortable heat still settled on his body. He finally fluttered his eyes open, winced and instantly closed them against the sunlight that filtered through the gaps in the curtains. He rolled his head away from the light and reopened his eyes, blinked fuzzily. Dean was sprawled in the bed next to him, bare-chested, but clad in sweatpants, with the ragged sort of look about him that usually followed something bad happening to Sam.

He closed his eyes, scraped through his memories. It came back in an instant – _Anna’s house, the sister Mel, feeling sick_. He gave a soft groan, lifted a hand and flopped it to his forehead. At this tiny movement and sound, Dean jerked awake like he’d been electrocuted, half flailing as he got into a sitting position, blinking and wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.

‘Fuck – _shit_ – fell asl – _fuck_ – you ok, Sammy?’ he rambled.

Sam let the hand fall from his face. ‘Relax, Dean,’ he stopped, winced, even startling himself at the hoarse rasp of his voice, the grate of it along an abused throat, ‘m’fine.’

Dean’s eyes searched his face and he reached to brush a stray hair off Sam’s forehead. ‘You’re _fine_?’ he echoed sceptically.

Sam grimaced. ‘Ok,’ he relented, ‘still feel a little… off.’

Dean let out a breath. ‘Not surprised dude,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen a human vomit that much.’

Sam pulled a face. ‘Gross’ he said.

‘Yeah, you’re telling me,’ Dean grumbled. ‘I was the one cleanin’ it all up.’

‘Sorry’ Sam offered quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said, as he slipped from the bed and padded into the kitchenette, ‘jus’… jus’ don’t do that again.’

‘’S’hardly my fault,’ Sam said as he shifted and gingerly wriggled to sit up against the headboard, wincing as the world swirled a moment at the movement.

‘Food poisoning you reckon?’

Dean returned and held out a glass of water. Sam accepted it gratefully, took a cautious sip, unsure of how his stomach would handle it.

‘Must be’ he shrugged.

‘That’ll teach you to eat all that rabbit crap,’ Dean tried to tease, but remnants of worry clung to his features and he was watching Sam intently. ‘Try an’ drink the whole glass. Been tryin’ to give you fluids all night but you couldn’t keep a lot down.’

Sam looked at Dean – _really_ looked – and saw the darkened circles beneath his eyes and the edge to his expression, felt the familiar twinge of guilt in his stomach. Dean must have been up all night taking care of him.

‘’M’sorry, Dean’ he said quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes, leant forward a brushed a kiss along his forehead, before giving the back of his head a light smack. ‘Stop apologisin’ – not your fault you ate somethin’ that didn’t agree with you.’

Sam took a few more cautious sips of the water as Dean stretched long, arms above his head, wandering to his duffel.

‘Tell y’what, reckon we both need a goddamn shower after last night,’ he said, rifling amongst his clothes. ‘Reckon you can stand for a shower?' 

Sam thought for a moment. ‘Um… maybe give it a bit?’ he answered truthfully.

Dean shot him another worried look. Sam held up a hand.

‘Jus’ a bit shaky s’all’ he tried to assure his brother.

‘Hmm’ Dean hummed.

‘Hey, so – how’d it go with findin’ Stacey?’ Sam tried to change to subject, distract his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious distraction, but didn’t put up a fight. ‘It didn’t,’ he answered shortly. ‘We got t’the lake and then we got a phone call sayin’ you were throwin’ up so we booked it out of there.’

Sam frowned. ‘You booked it – _Dean_ ,’ he gave a sigh, ‘you – the case; kids are in danger! You should’ve finished the case – ’

‘Oh for the love of – _really_ , Sammy?’ Dean spun to glare at him. ‘ _Really_? I get a phone call sayin’ you’re sick and you expect me to spend hours tryna find a body before I come check on you?’

‘The _case_ – ’ Sam tried.

‘ _Fuck_ the case,’ Dean snapped. ‘You sound like Russ.

‘Kids are in danger’ Sam pointed out.

‘So were _you_ ’ Dean retorted.

‘ _Dean_ ’ Sam sighed.

‘Look, just ... just shut up, ok? You were sick, I came. You’d have done the same thing if things were reversed,’ Dean snapped, then he paused and his slumped a little, a hand coming to rub underneath tired looking eyes, ‘just – gimme a break, Sammy, these past few weeks… with that,’ he flapped a hand, ‘seizure thing, I just. I’m not takin’ chances with you, ok?’

Sam softened. ‘Ok’ he said softly.

‘Right’ Dean nodded, and straightened up, brushing off the moment quickly. ‘Right.’

‘Bet Russ wasn’t too pleased about having to leave’ Sam said.

Dean huffed. ‘Yeah,’ he rolled his eyes, then paused and thought, ‘he mighta gone back and finished the job though, didn’t see him after I rocked up at the house, he didn’t come in or anythin’.’

‘His concern for me is touching’ Sam commented wryly.

‘Did you expect anything else?’ Dean grinned as he gathered his clothes, heading for the bathroom. ‘Right – shower time. I’d invite you t’join me but,’ he winked at Sam, ‘after last night, dude, I’m totally not thinkin’ _any_ sexy thoughts about you, Vomit Master.’

Sam flushed. ‘Shut up, jerk.’

‘Bitch’ Dean retorted and laughing, retreated into the bathroom.

 

**

 

Sam emerged from the bathroom showered, teeth thoroughly ( _thoroughly_ ) brushed, feeling shaky, a little rubber-limbed, but nonetheless _far_ more human than before. He’d tugged on his softest, oldest, baggiest pair of jeans and a hoodie that he was ninety percent sure once belonged to Dean, but had been stretched from endless shoddy laundromats so it sagged on even his bulky form and his hair fell wet and fluffy around his head. Dean was at the table, sipping on an instant coffee he’d made using the kitchenette and he glanced up as Sam padded slowly from the bathroom.

He grinned. ‘There y’go,’ he said. ‘Look a lot more human now.’

‘Feel it too’ Sam replied.

‘C’mere’ Dean gestured with a hand.

Sam approached and once he was within grabbing distance Dean promptly caught his wrist and expertly yanked him, tumbling, to sit on Dean’s lap. Sam made an undignified squawking noise.

‘Dean – I – c’mon, I’m too heavy for this shit,’ he huffed even as Dean manhandled him into basically straddling him in the chair.

‘Not _that_ heavy,’ Dean dismissed, ‘an’ besides, you probably lost a fair few kilos last night pukin’ up your guts – ’

‘Oh shut up’ Sam huffed.

Dean grinned, then slid a hand up to tangle in Sam’s hair and gently tug his head down. He brushed his lips over his brother’s.

‘Had me worried last night, Sammy’ he murmured.

‘Sorry’ Sam said softly, feeling his lips brush Dean’s as he spoke.

Dean pulled back a moment. ‘I,’ he hesitated, ‘you – uh – you said some stuff.’

Sam raised an eyebrow, inclined his head.

‘Some stuff that sounded like – like stuff from Hell’ Dean finally got out.

‘Oh,’ Sam blinked, drew in a long breath, let it out. ‘Oh. I mean. I don’t. I don’t remember now? So. Uh...’

Dean nodded slowly. ‘That’s – yeah, that’s good. That’s good.’

He tugged him down once more, this time capturing his lips in a kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. Sam drew back a tiny bit, smirked.

‘Thought you didn’t want to kiss me cause I’m all gross?’ he teased.

‘Eh, you brushed your teeth’ Dean shrugged.

‘Can’t say the same for you, coffee breath’ Sam retorted.

‘Oh shuddup, you brat’ Dean rolled his eyes.

He kissed him again, this time the younger man opening willingly for his probing tongue, felt himself relax into the taste, the feel, the comfort of Sam – the feel of him heavy and _alive_ and _fine_ on his lap – he slid a hand to Sam’s back, felt the gentle rise and fall, took comfort in the steady breathing. The kiss grew a little hungrier, a little dirtier, Dean started to pull out a few more of his tricks and then – then there was a knock on the door.

Sam broke the kiss with a groan. He was flushed (which was probably a little due to the remnants of the fever still clinging to him, but that Dean liked to tell himself was _totally_ all because he was such a kick-ass kisser), lips a little wet and swollen and Dean was tempted to just ignore the knocking and go right back to making out.

‘Dean? Sam?’ it was Russ’s voice.

Sam groaned again, this time louder and with a roll of his eyes, sliding off Dean’s lap to getting to his feet.

‘Hey, what’s up with the groanin’ Sammy – it’s your favourite person, isn’t it?’ Dean grinned.

‘Oh shut up’ Sam flopped into the other chair at the table.

Dean got to his feet and headed to the door, opening it to reveal Russ standing with a tray of cups. The younger hunter gave a bright smile.

‘Hey, mornin’ Dean!’ he greeted.

It was altogether far too cheery for Dean, who’d spent a large portion of the night cleaning up vomit and tending to a feverish little brother, and he couldn’t really muster a smile in response.

‘Mornin’’ he greeted, stepping to one side to let Russ in.

‘Thought I’d swing by,’ Russ chattered, ‘talk about us lookin’ for Stacey’s body – ’

Russ paused a fraction of a beat, eyes flickering over the room and too late Dean realized the single queen bed, the rumpled sheets and the very obvious lack of another bed in the room.

‘Uh – ’ he started without any clue what he was going to say.

‘ – and I bought coffee,’ Russ continued like the pause hadn’t happened, transferring his gaze back to Dean’s face. ‘And, uh, a herbal tea for Sam.’

Sam jolted, surprised that he was even mentioned, straightening in his seat, blinking. ‘You – oh. I – thanks Russ.’

Russ slid the cup across the table. ‘Well, I figured coffee might not be too good on your stomach after you’ve been sick,’ he said, ‘an’ herbal tea’s s’posed to be good for you, right?’

‘Right’ Sam tugged the cup over, blinked. ‘Right.’

He looked to Dean, who gave him a raised eyebrow look as if to say “see Sammy, he’s not _so_ bad.” Sam gave a tiny roll of his eyes and a tiny nod in acquiescence. He took a sip of the herbal tea and resisted the urge to pull a face at the oddly sweet, semi-earthy taste.

‘So, Stacey?’ Russ had already turned back to Dean, his customary acknowledgement of Sam’s existence clearly over and done with now.

‘You didn’t finish it up yesterday?’ Dean queried.

‘No, I figured we could finish up today,’ Russ replied. ‘Easier with more people an’ all that.’

Dean tossed a look at Sam. ‘Whaddya say, Sammy? You feelin’ up to it?’

Russ started. ‘Oh – I didn’t – realize - ’

Sam hid a sigh, took a sip of the herbal tea. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he winced, felt a stab of annoyance. He’d thought the damn nausea and upset stomach had passed. Dean was watching him closely, caught the wince.

‘You all right?’ his brows knitted together in concern.

‘I’m fine,’ Sam answered automatically, ‘but I might sit this one out. You two go on ahead though. May as well wrap this case up.’

He hoped Dean caught the underlying “the sooner we wrap this up the sooner we can leave” in his words. Russ, completely unsurprisingly to Sam, lit up and beamed at Dean.

‘Whaddya say then Dean? Shall we go find Stacey?’

Dean’s eyes were on Sam. ‘You sure you’ll be right here on your own?’ he pressed.

Sam huffed, took another sip. ‘It’s _food poisoning_ , Dean, it’s not life threatening,’ he said. ‘I’ll be _fine_.’

Dean’s tensed his jaw, thought of overly hot skin and whimpers of “ _don’t let me burn_ ” and resisted the urge to tell Sam to stop being so fucking flippant with his health dammit. But he’d heard the implied “let’s hurry up and finish this case” and he relented, pulling a face.

‘Ok, ok. _Fine_. But you call me if you feel any worse,’ he ordered.

Sam bobbed his head obediently and Dean went to grab his keys and wallet.

‘All right, Russ, let’s get this case finished’ he said.

Russ all but bounced from the room and Dean paused at the doorway, glanced to make sure the younger hunter had left, before he doubled back in, caught the back of Sam’s head, tilted it up and kissed him gently.

‘ _Promise_ you’ll tell me if you feel worse again’ he muttered gruffly as he drew back.

Sam gave him a light push. ‘I promise – now go, finish this stupid case dammit.’

Dean gave him a mock salute, headed for the door and slipped out, shutting it behind him. Sam sat for a moment, before his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, a pain stabbing low in his abdomen. He winced, put a hand to his gut and expelled a long sigh, grimacing in pain.

 _It was going to be a long day_ , he thought, and took a sip of the herbal tea.

 

**

 

It was after nightfall by the time they located Stacey, her body trapped by mud and weeds at the bottom of the lake near the water tower. They probably could have found her earlier - much earlier - but Russ had _insisted_ they stop for breakfast on the way, had taken his time chattering at the café, had then _insisted_ on driving and had driven _extraordinarily_ slow to the location of the water tower, and plodded at an _excruciating_ pace to the tower itself.

Dean lost track of the amount of times he'd had to resist the urge to punch the dude. 

He took a little pleasure in telling Russ he was to be the one who had to search around in the muddied water – a pleasure that was short-lived when Russ simply leapt to the task like an over-eager puppy. It was no fun bossing around someone who would clearly do anything to please him.

When Russ found Stacey it was in the _one_ place he hadn’t checked the entire day, but finally seemed to _miraculously_ and _suddenly_ locate once night had fallen – and Dean had the sudden thought that that was _weird_ , was _strange_ , and there was _something_ off about the entire day but - but then Russ was dragging the body ashore and the thoughts were lost in a swell of grief as he looked at the sodden, muddied, limp form.

 _Too young_ , he thought grimly, _too damn young_.

His heart twisted at the thought of the parents, still searching for a daughter they held onto hope of being alive, and he made a mental note to have Sam send through an anonymous tip to the police regarding Stacey’s whereabouts and last movements. Although, how would that be any better? Knowing what happened to their daughter? He let out a long sigh, and rubbed at his chin. Too much time being the compassionate one of the team with Robo Sam had left him with a brain that overthought to… well, to _Sammy_ -levels.

‘Whoo – found ‘er – high-five!’ Russ whooped and held up a muddied, dripping hand to Dean.

Dean stared blankly a moment, decided _against_ punching the younger hunter in the face (for the tenth time that day), and instead cleared his throat, pointedly ignored the comment and turned to head to his duffel to grab the salt, lighter fluid and salt-round loaded shotgun. Once he'd grabbed everything, he wheeled back around and tossed the gun to Russ, who caught it reflexively.

‘All right, you keep an eye out in case Stacey pays us a visit’ he ordered.

Russ grinned. ‘Sure thing!’ he set his stance wide, hefted the gun.

Dean started to sprinkle the salt over the body, and sure enough the moment the salt hit the limp, sodden form, the temperature started to drop, his breath clouded in the air and he whipped his head up in time to see Stacey flicker once, then appear in front of them. Her eyes locked onto the body on the ground, then jumped to Dean’s face.

‘ _Please_ ,’ she whispered. ‘Please, _I don’t want to anymore_.’

Dean froze a moment, stared.

‘I just want to rest ple – ’ Stacey started to say.

‘Shut it ghost bitch!’ Russ shouted.

Stacey’s head whipped to him, her eyes widened in horror, then Russ fired the gun once and she dissipated in the blast of salt. Dean blinked, gave himself a shake, doused the body in lighter fluid, the temperature dropped and Stacey appeared once more –

‘ _Help me_ ’ she got out.

\- before Russ blasted her with the salt gun, Dean pulled out his lighter and set fire to the body. Stacey appeared once more, her eyes fell on the flames, her face broke into a huge smile and then, in a burst of fire, she was gone.

 _That_ , Dean thought, _was fucking weird._

‘That,’ Russ yelled, ‘was fucking _awesome_! Right? Right? Wasn’t that cool? Right Dean?’

Dean stared at him a moment. ‘Uh – I mean – ’

‘We made _such_ a good team!’ Russ carried on enthusiastically. ‘We totally _crushed_ it, hey? We were totally in sync and everything!’

Dean looked at his mile-wide smile and didn’t have the heart to point out that they didn’t really work together as such (because he sent Russ to tramp in the water and mostly sat on the sidelines), and that the whole thing was _extremely_ straight forward and easy (a salt and burn Dean could do in his sleep at this point in his life) and that, on top of all that, Stacey… well Stacey almost seemed like she had _wanted_ to be put to rest.

He made a non-committal noise instead.

‘We should go for drinks,’ Russ suggested brightly. ‘Celebrate the case being finished. I’ve got a change of clothes in my car – we could go straight from here!’

Dean couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. He was antsy to get back to Sam, to check in on his younger brother – he’d been checking his phone throughout the day, and aside from one “ _I’m fine, stop worrying you mother-hen_ ” message, he hadn’t really heard from Sam the entire day. It was driving him crazy, made his skin itch, his feet dance with impatience.

Co-dependent? Him? _Never_.

But, he told himself, but, Sam was _sick_ , and _that_ was primarily why he was eager to get home – the memories of the night before, of the intense fever, the Hell flash-backs; they were too fresh in Dean’s mind.

‘Probably shouldn’t,’ he said finally to Russ. ‘What with Sam bein’ sick an’ all. I should probably check in on him.’

Russ’s smile faded. ‘Dude,’ he made a huffing noise, ‘it’s – it’s _food poisoning_ , man, it’s not _life-threatening_ … I’m sure even _he_ can take care of himself for a few hours while you have a couple of beers…’

There was an undercurrent of scorn and sarcasm that wasn’t lost on Dean, and he made a note to ( _firmly_ ) explain to Russ at a later date that _he_ was the only one who was allowed to be sarcastic towards Sammy _thank you very much_. He hesitated a moment, played idly with his phone in his pocket – Sam _had_ insisted he was fine, and this morning he _had_ seemed much healthier. And – and there was… there was the _things_ Russ had seen – the almost-footsie game, the single bed in the motel room – he just. He didn’t want to add to the growing suspicious Russ most likely was already harbouring about he and Sammy, about their level of codependency, about how far it went... _He_ didn’t care personally – hunters could talk shit all they liked about him and Dean didn’t give a crap – but… but he tried to prevent hunters from circulating rumours about Sam. After Roy and Walt, after the apocalypse… Sammy just took too much to heart, and he didn’t want to add to any potential rumours.

‘Yeah,’ he said slowly, finally, ‘yeah ok. A few beers then.’

Russ looked like Christmas had come early. ‘Awesome!’ he cheered. ‘And hey,’ he met Dean’s eyes, ‘hey maybe we can check out the talent, score ourselves some dames.’

He said it forcefully, like it was really important, and Dean avoided his look and made a non-committal noise. Because – well, because first of all, “ _dames_ ”? Really? Did _anyone_ even use that word anymore? No wonder Sammy thought the guy was a creep. And second of all – second of all, he already had himself a “dame” (and he struggled not to smile at the expression Sam would wear at Dean referring to him as a “dame” – but hey, he was the one who insisted on those damn shaggy long locks) and he was quite happy ( _more than happy, more than_ ) with said “dame.”

But naturally he couldn’t say any of this, so he instead turned and started to head towards the car.

‘S’go then, yeah?’ he called back.

He tapped his phone in his pocket, resisted the urge to check it. It was just a few beers. Just a few hours.

Nothing could go wrong.

 

**

 

Something was wrong.

 _Well_ , Sam thought, as he huddled in the bathroom, _no duh something was wrong_.

It had been a rapid deterioration after Dean and Russ had left – Sam had felt fine that morning, with Dean, had felt basically human. His stomach still a little tender, his body still a little shaky – but all in all not too bad. Then – then, as he’d been sipping the herbal tea in front of the television, things had started to go down hill. The sweat had started to bead on his forehead, trickle down his back, the nausea starting to build. The chills were back, and he’d found himself huddling under blankets, even as sweat soaked through his clothes, because he was cold – _he was so damn cold_ – he could feel it in his bones, feel it aching within him. He’d fought hard to resist the urge to contact Dean, wanted his brother to focus on finishing the case, not worrying about him, kept telling himself he was fine -

Then, there’d been a surge of bile to the back of his throat, and he’d made an Olympian sprint to the bathroom, almost impressive on his weak, wobbly legs, all but tumbled next to the toilet, and proceeded to be violently sick.

 _There can’t be anymore in my stomach_ , he’d thought despairingly, because he hadn’t even eaten since the day before, and yet still his stomach had clenched and constricted painfully.

He was now sprawled in the tiny bathroom (as much as his 6’4 frame _could_ sprawl in a tiny bathroom), his back against the hard porcelain of the bathtub, right next to the toilet. His hair stuck to his forehead, slick with sweat and he could feel droplets of sweat trickling down his back. But he was still so goddamn cold.

 _So fucking cold_.

His entire body shivered, his teeth chattered, goose-bumps prickled his skin. His stomach roiled and flopped and nausea flooded his mouth with saliva. The bathroom spun lazily in his vision, doubling, swaying, blurring. His heart was beating double-time in his chest and his head pounded with a migraine so intense it made him want to gouge into his head to desperately try to relieve the pain. He felt _awful_. _So_ awful. _Beyond_ awful.

He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and emitted a small moan, his head lolling on his shoulders.

_Not again…_

He half fell towards the toilet, head dipping forward, sweat-drenched hair flopping in his face. He didn’t have the strength or energy to try to push his hair back. He retched, his body heaving, spitting out nothing but bile, nothing left in his stomach to expel. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes at the agony, his hands clutching the porcelain sides of the toilet so tightly his knuckles were white. The heaving died down and Sam slumped back against the bathtub, his whole body trembling and he could no longer figure out if it was from the cold or from pure exhaustion. He reached a shaking, trembling hand to swipe sweat feebly from his upper lip. His hand dropped back down. Sam stared for a moment, and a full second passed before he processed that it wasn’t in fact sweat on the back of his hand, but something bright red.

_Hmmm._

And while he was thinking that, he realized he could feel something warm trickling from his nose, dripping over his lips and sliding down his chin, tasting of copper when he licked his lips.

 _Blood_ , his mind identified. Then, _that’s probably not good._

And that was when Sam figured it was probably a good time to call Dean.

 

**

 

‘Oh man!’ Russ crowed. ‘Dude, you win again! You rock at this game!’

The younger hunter’s grin was so wide it was in danger of splitting his face in half as he flapped his free hand enthusiastically at Dean, the other still gripping his pool cue. On the other side of the pool table Dean forced a tight smile in return.

‘Yeah, guess so’ he responded.

He turned and took his beer from the nearby table and took two huge swallows. Two, huge, _desperately needed_ swallows.

As it turned out, playing pool against someone who was truly, _truly_ terrible was actually not that fun when there was no money to be won. And Russ was actually even worse than “truly, truly terrible.” It was almost amazing how _spectacularly_ bad the younger hunter was. Dean would have marvelled at it if it weren’t for the fact that he was too busy being bored out of his skull and, in general, annoyed over the entire night as a whole.

It didn’t help that every time he won a game, or sunk a ball or, _hell_ , even _hit_ a ball, Russ would lavish extensive praise on him like Dean had just delivered a baby or disarmed a bomb. Dean was _all_ for compliments – he _knew_ he was awesome and it was still nice to be told every so often – but _this_ … this was _overkill_.

He eyed his drink, which was less than half full and felt a surge of relief. He could down that in one go and then he could call it a night and get out of here. The worry for Sam hadn't abided in the hour since they’d been there, had pretty much increased, and he was at the end of his tether – he’d officially maxed out his “separated from Sammy” time limit, he’d decided, and he really, _really_ just wanted to get back to the motel room.

With that thought in mind, he tossed back the remaining dregs and turned to Russ.

‘Well, guess we better – ’ he started.

But Russ was placing his pool cue on the table and turning away.

‘I’ll go get us another round, yeah?’ he was calling over his shoulder, already on his way to the bar. ‘You set up for another game! Man, good night, hey?!’

‘No, wait, Russ, I –’

The younger hunter was gone, already vanished in the crowds. Dean trailed off and huffed out a huge sigh.

‘Sonofabitch’ he hissed out.

He rubbed a face over his face, wondered how to tell Russ, politely, that he would rather go ten rounds with a Wendigo than play another game of pool, when his phone suddenly went off. Dean started a moment, then his heartbeat kicked up a notch. Sam. He tugged the phone out, flipped it open.

‘Sammy?’

There was silence, nothing but the sound of raggedy breathing and panic fluttered in Dean’s chest, his feet already carrying him towards the exit without his mind fully processing.

‘Sam? _Sam_! Answer me! Sammy?’

‘D-dean’ Sam’s voice stammered out.

‘Sam,’ Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his brother’s voice. ‘Hey – what’s going on? Sam, are you ok?’

‘Dean…’ Sam murmured again, voice slightly slurred. ‘Dean, blood…’

Worry spiked through Dean like a lance and he felt a little like his stomach dropped out. He reached the exit, slammed the door open, earned himself a glare from the bouncer standing there.

‘Blood? Sam – blood where? Blood _where_ Sam?!’

‘’S’cold,’ Sam’s voice drifted, sounding slightly vague. ‘Dean, s’cold…’

‘Look, just – just hang on, I’m on my way back now,’ Dean rapped out as he strode across the carpark towards Baby.

‘So cold…’ Sam’s teeth started to chatter down the line. It didn’t appear that he’d even heard Dean. ‘ _Always_ so cold…’

‘What?’ Dean barked, lost his footing mid-step at the sentence, momentarily confused at the turn of conversation. ‘What do you –’

_“Most people think I burn hot. It is actually quite the opposite…"_

The bile rose in the back of Dean’s throat. He broke into a run down the car park.

_Not again, not again, not again._

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘Sam, focus, I’m coming ok? Don’t go down that path! Sammy?’

‘Coming…’ Sam repeated.

‘Yes, Sam, I’m coming for you ok?!’

‘’S’cold…’ Sam repeated, then his voice started to rise a little, in panic, in fear. ‘S’not coming… not coming for you, _never coming for you_ …’

And before Dean could call out, could yell at Sam to snap out of it, there was a thud and the clattering sound of a phone dropping onto the tiles. Dean reached the impala, panic now reached a crescendo.

‘Sam?!’ he shouted down the phone, even as he yanked open the door. ‘Sam?! Answer me! _Sammy_?!’

He was vaguely aware as he was shouting his brother’s name that someone was shouting his, but it hardly registered. Just like it barely registered when he briefly glanced to the door of the bar and saw Russ standing at the doorway, two beers clutched in his hands, his face twisted, almost anguished, the hands of the bouncer shoving him back in with his full beverages.

Then Dean slid into the impala, gunned the engine and spun out of the carpark towards the motel.

 

**

 

It was an incessant beeping noise that first registered with Sam. A steady _beep-beep-beep_ that seared through his consciousness, cut through the dreams of fire, of ice, of pain and mocking laughter, and drew him back to awareness.

He cracked his eyelids slightly and then shut them immediately against the onslaught of whiteness and bright lights. _Where the hell…_?

He tried to think back, tried to think what he could last remember. His head felt thick, like it was packed full of cotton-wool, and his limbs heavy. He felt tired, weak and achy. Had he been injured on the hunt somehow? Then he remembered. Food poisoning – feeling like hell – blood dripping from his nose – calling Dean – then cold – cold – s _o cold_ \- and then he wasn’t in the hotel he was somewhere dark _and there was pain and fear and_ –

His eyes flew open and his breath hitched in a gasp, heart thundering, the beeping that had woken him suddenly speeding up ten-fold. There was a flurry of movement to his left.

‘Woah, Sammy? You awake?’ Suddenly Dean appeared above him, face lined with worry, green eyes filled with concern.

‘ _Dean_ –’ Sam gasped.

Dean grabbed a hold of his shoulders as Sam tried to lurch upwards. ‘Hey, _hey_ , easy – _easy_!’ he kept his voice firm, calm, his hold gentle as it kept Sam lying down. ‘Easy tiger, you’re ok. You’re ok.’

Sam’s panicked gaze focused in on his brother’s face. ‘Dean…?’

Dean nodded. ‘Right here kiddo’ he said.

Sam felt his breathing return to normal, his heart rate slow down and the flames that flickered at the edges of his conscious faded away. His body began to relax back into the bed.

‘You good?’ Dean cocked his head to one side.

Sam drew in a deep breath and nodded. ‘Y-yeah, I’m good.’

Dean released his grip on Sam’s shoulders and moved back to his seat. Sam glanced around himself and realized for the first time that he was in a bed. More specifically, a hospital bed, and IV pinching the back of his hand. The beeping noise revealed itself to be his heart-rate, showing steadily on the monitor.

He looked to Dean. ‘Hospital?’

Dean gave a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Nothing gets past you, hey.’

Sam wrinkled his nose at Dean in a mild appropriation of a bitchface, then realized that the wrinkling motion hurt hit head. He reached up and felt the outlines of a gauze piece taped across the side of his forehead. Confusion marred his face.

‘What…’ he blinked at Dean. ‘I hit my head?’

Dean bit his lip. ‘Yeah, you hit your head.’

There was a haunted look in his brother’s eyes and Sam let his hand drop from his forehead. He swallowed.

‘That bad?’ he asked.

Dean avoided his gaze, glanced off to one side and shrugging awkwardly. ‘The hospital was just… Just a precaution really’ he said vaguely.

 _Yeah, that fucking bad_ , Dean thought, his jaw tightening.

Memories he didn’t want to relive of the night before bubbled to the surface.

‘You, ah, you hit the side of your head pretty bad when – ’ _when you were seizing_ ‘ – when… you fell, split open your temple… it was – ’ _I found you lying in a pool of blood with your head split open_ ‘ – it looked kinda nasty and I couldn’t wake you up – ’ _I tried, I tried so fucking hard and you wouldn’t wake up_ ‘ – so I figured a hospital was the best way to go. Don’t mess around with head injuries and all that – ’ _especially with that goddamn wall_ ‘ – just wanted to make sure…’

_Make sure you were still sane. Make sure you were still you. Make sure Hell hadn’t crushed you into tiny pieces._

Dean gave himself a shake. ‘Anyway. Uh. The doc’s say you’re all good – no concussion, just mild dehydration from the food poisoning – they’ve had you on a saline drip an’ all that to treat it. The uh,’ he gestured a little, ‘the blood nose –sometimes when you’re vomitin’ so forcefully – ’

Sam grimaced. ‘Of course,’ he rubbed his cheek a little, ‘sorry – guess I overreacted when I saw the blood then. Probably shouldn’t have called – think I was a bit delirious.’

Dean thought suddenly of if Sam hadn’t called – if Sam hadn’t called him and instead just collapsed in the bathroom on his own, split his head open and started seizing on the cold tiles, with Dean still stuck at the goddamn pub drinking beer with Russ, oblivious to it all. He felt a little sick.

‘S’good,’ his voice came out all wrong, and he cleared his throat, ‘s’good you called.’

Sam’s eyes swept over him, and maybe the same thought occurred to him because he slid his hand out and grasped Dean’s, entwined their fingers and Dean couldn’t even bring himself to call him a girl for it. Not when he needed the comfort it bought. He looked down at their interlocked fingers, drew in a breath, then looked back up.

‘So we took care of Stacey last night too,’ he said. ‘Ghost went up in flames an’ all.’

He’d meant to mention to Sam about the weirdness of Stacey seeming to want her remains to be torched, the lack of a fight she’d put up – but in light of the previous night’s events, it hardly seemed important any more. The case was done; that was all that mattered really.

‘Thank god this case is over,’ Sam’s shoulders slumped a little. ‘So we’re heading out of town tonight then?’

Dean blinked a moment. ‘ _Tonight_? I – Sam, you just – the docs – ’

‘Dean, you said it yourself, no concussion, there’s just some mild after affects of the food poisoning – I’m fine,’ Sam said patiently. ‘And the sooner we get out of here, the less likely it is they find out whatever insurance you’ve given them is completely fake.’

It was logical, it was, and if Dean was in Sam’s place he’d have been saying the same thing, probably would have already been climbing from the bed in fact. But – but it _wasn’t_ him in the hospital bed; it was _Sam_. And Dean was of the firm belief that different rules applied where Sam was concerned. Sam gave his hand a squeeze.

‘Dean’ he said pointedly.

Dean exhaled. ‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘ _Fine_. We’ll head out soon. But don’t blame me when your brain starts clotting or whatever.’

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be a drama queen.’

‘ _You’re_ a drama queen’ Dean retorted.

Sam released his hand, shifted on the bed. ‘When was the last time you slept, by the way?’ he cast a scrutinizing look at Dean’s face, eyes snagging on the dark bags beneath his eyes.

Dean shrugged. ‘Sleep is for the weak, Sammy’ he answered.

‘Dean,’ Sam sighed. ‘That’s two nights you’ve barely slept –’

‘That’s why people invented coffee’ Dean replied.

There was movement and he turned as a doctor entered, greeting them both with a smile. ‘Agent Parker,’ he said to Sam, ‘glad to see you’re awake. Mind if I run through a few tests, look you over?’

Dean stepped back from the bed. ‘I’ll grab a coffee,’ he said. ‘Be back in a sec.’

He slipped from the room, entered the hallway and paused a moment.

 _Fuck_ , but he’d be glad to put this entire goddamn case/town/ _everything_ in his rear view mirror, he decided.

He walked down the hallway and into the waiting room, headed for the coffee machine. What he really needed was a goddamn intravenous caffeine line, the past two nights of sporadic sleep (and the less than stellar nights before that on nightmare watch) were catching up to him, infecting his limbs with a sluggishness, thinning out already frayed nerves. He shoved a paper cup into the machine, inserted some coins and pressed the button, rubbing his eyes as he waited. He’d let the doctor check Sam out and then – once he 100% had the all clear – they could swing by the motel to pack up their stuff and head to Bobby’s.

And Dean didn’t care _how_ much of a fuss Sam kicked up about that, they needed a goddamn day or two to unwind from food poisoning, unwelcome strange hunters and dead kids and Bobby’s was the perfect refuge.

‘Dean!’

Dean sighed a little. _Speaking of unwelcome strange hunters_.

He turned as Russ headed in his direction, tried to remember if he’d told Russ he was taking Sam to the hospital ( _extremely unlikely_ ), tried to remember if he’d even told Russ Sam was still sick.

‘Hey’ Russ greeted with a smile that seemed out of place in a hospital.

‘What are you doing here?’ Dean didn’t mean to be blunt, he didn’t, but it had been a _long_ night, dammit, and his coffee was filling far too damn slowly for his liking.

Russ’s smile dimmed a moment. ‘I – uh – you know – came to make sure – everything was ok.’

‘No I mean – what are you doing _here_?’ Dean pressed. ‘How did you know we’d be at the hospital?’

‘Oh – _oh_ – I asked your hotel,’ Russ waved a hand. ‘They said – the guy at the front desk – said you took off in – ’ his hand wafted again, ‘ – he told me the direction and, you know, I remembered Sam being sick yesterday and just made a connection, you know? Sam sick, the direction being the direction of the hospital…’

It was a stretch and Dean squinted a little at him.

‘Dude, we’re _hunters_ ,’ Russ huffed, and he looked a little uncomfortable. ‘It’s how our minds work, y’know? Making connections?’

‘Right,’ Dean said, then turned to snag his coffee from the machine. ‘Listen, I better get back to – ’

‘Of course, yeah, right,’ Russ rushed to say whilst at the same time he dug into his pockets to pull out a piece of paper, ‘hey, listen, I wrote down – it’s the house I’m staying at – my, ah, my friend’s house – was thinking – you know, while Sam’s recovering or whatever, you could come round and we could hang, like tomorrow or something –’

The paper was shoved into Dean’s hand and he suddenly felt a little awkward.

‘Oh – I – yeah. It’s just – you know. The case is over,’ he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘So, Sam and I – we’ll be heading out tonight.’

Russ stared at him. ‘Heading – heading out? You mean – you’re leaving?’

‘Well, yeah, I mean,’ Dean smiled awkwardly, ‘I mean, the case is over man and – you know, once the case is done, we usually book it out of town.’

Russ was still staring at him. ‘You’re leaving’ he repeated dumbly.

Dean shoved the paper in his jeans pocket. ‘Yeah,’ he started to shuffle back, ‘but hey, it was nice meeting you an’… an’ all that. Maybe we can work a case together down the track, yeah?’ He clapped Russ on the shoulder. ‘I’ll, uh, I’ll see you ‘round, Russ.’

Russ didn’t say anything and Dean took that as his cue to exit, heading back towards Sam’s room, feeling the weight of the other hunter’s stare the entire walk.

 

**

 

The knock came when they were midway through packing that night.

Sam had been given the all-clear (well the doctor had mentioned keeping him in another night, but in Winchester-speak that was the equivalent to “all-clear”) and they were both more than keen to put the town, and the case ( _and Russ_ , Sam thought but didn’t say) in their rear-view mirror. Dean paused at the knock, holding a flannel he’d been in the middle of shoving into his duffel. He raised an eyebrow and looked to Sam.

‘Probably your biggest fan to say goodbye’ Sam commented wryly.

‘Oh shut up’ Dean grumbled, heading for the door.

‘I can give you guys some time alone if you like?’ Sam offered, smirking a little.

‘I will hit you’ Dean tossed over his shoulder. 

‘As if you’d hit a sick person’ Sam grinned.

‘Fine, I’ll withhold blowjobs for a month then’ Dean said loudly, wrenching the door open as he spoke.

‘ _Dean_!’ Sam hissed, facing flaming pink, heart leaping to his throat.

But Russ – _because, of course it was Russ_ , Sam sighed in his head - didn’t seem to have heard Dean’s lewd threat, was too busy wringing his hands, an agitated look on his face.

‘Hey man’ Dean said, and Sam could hear the dullness to his tone, was a little savagely glad that Dean seemed to have tired of the other hunter as much as Sam had.

‘There’s been another death’ Russ blurted out.

Dean froze and Sam straightened up instantly.

‘What?’ they both said simultaneously.

‘Anna,’ Russ said, ‘the girl who was attacked previously. She was found suffocated in her room, same as the others, about two hours ago.’

Dean’s mouth worked silently a moment. ‘That’s not possible’ he got out finally.

‘You guys torched Stacey,’ Sam headed to Dean’s side, heart rate picking up. ‘You _said_ you saw her go up in flames.’

‘I _did_!’ Dean restated. ‘Her bones were _toast_ man – we both saw it – ’

Russ bobbed his head. ‘Definitely – ’

‘Then _how_?’ Sam raked a hand through his hair.

‘We must have missed something’ Russ threw up both hands.

Sam made a noise of frustration, looked to Dean.

‘Listen,’ Russ continued, before either of them could speak, ‘listen, I’m gonna head to the coroner’s office, check out the body – make sure it fits our girl’s MO. How about you two go speak to the sister? You already had a rapport with her, right, Sam?’

It was always weird, being addressed directly by Russ, and Sam had already been recovering from the mere fact that Russ wasn’t trying to get Dean to himself for once – so he took a moment, blinking.

‘Uh, yeah,’ he stuttered. ‘Yeah I guess.’

‘At the very least, she’ll remember you,’ Dean tried to joke. ‘Hard to forget the puking dude.’

Sam shot him a bitchface.

‘I’ll give you guys a call, let you know what I find,’ Russ said, stepping back. ‘And you let me know what you guys find at the house.’

Then he was turning on his heel and walking hurriedly away. Sam let out a long breath.

‘Ready to suit up?’ he said to Dean.

‘What I was,’ Dean grumbled, shutting the door and turning back into the room, ‘was ready to leave.’

 

**

Dean sat perched on the hood on Baby, twirling his phone between his fingers, watching as Sam spoke quietly and gently to the distraught Mel, his compassionate face and puppy dog eyes on full force. He said a mental “thank you” to no longer being saddled with the “grieving widow/sister/mother/father/etc” duty that he’d been forced to take over whilst Robo Sam was up and walking around. He glanced up as he heard Sam approach, slid off the hood to straighten up.

‘The girl ok?’ he asked.

Sam made a face. ‘Her sister just died, Dean,’ he answered, ‘would _you_ be ok?’

Dean mentally replaced the word “sister” with “brother” and thought no, _no_ he very much would _not_ be ok, if past instances had taught him anything.

‘She see anything? Hear anything?’ he asked.

Sam rubbed at his chin. The light from the street lights cast odd shadows across his face, magnified the paleness of his skin, the remnants of the sickness still clinging to him, darkened smudges beneath his eyes, the stark white plaster on his forehead from where he’d smacked his head.

 _Maybe a holiday_ , Dean thought as he gazed at his brother, _not Bobby’s. A real holiday after this. The Grand Canyon or something_.

‘It’s weird,’ Sam said finally and Dean snapped back to reality.

‘What’s weird?’ he asked.

‘Just – I asked her the normal stuff – flickering lights, cold spots,’ Sam shrugged, ‘she said there was nothing like that in the lead up to Anna’s death. No weirdness whatsoever.’

‘She just might not have noticed,’ Dean shrugged. ‘It happens.’

‘Yeah,’ Sam murmured, and there was a pensive look to his face. ‘It’s just… just something feels _off_ about this, Dean.’

‘You’re telling me,’ Dean huffed, ‘we torched the damn body, there shouldn’t be anymore victims.’

‘Anna slept with her window open,’ Sam said, ‘so this… it wasn’t a locked room situation either.’

‘What you – hang on, you think someone – just _killed_ her? Like a _regular_ someone?’ Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

‘I don’t _know_ Dean,’ Sam forehead crinkled, ‘I don’t know _anything_ except now _three_ kids are dead and this case is driving me freakin’ _crazy_.’

‘Sammy’ Dean sighed softly, and stepped forward, snagged his waist and tugged him close.

He rose a little on his tip toes, brushed his lips over Sam's, lifted a hand to cup the back of his head, slid the other into the back pocket of Sam’s suit pants, didn't care if anyone was watching, anyone was looking, just wanting, needing to comfort, to calm his brother.

'Sam -' he started.

His phone buzzed suddenly and he made a regretful noise, stepped back.

‘Hold up,’ he said, fishing his phone from his pocket. ‘’S’Russ,’ he clicked the answer button, held the phone to his ear, ‘hey, what did you find?’

Sam watched as Dean listened to Russ. The older hunter’s hand was still in Sam’s back pocket and, despite the situation, it drew a little smile from Sam, this display of prolonged contact, the almost possessive nature of the gesture.

‘All right… all right… sounds good man. Talk to you then,’ Dean hung up the phone, turned back to Sam. ‘Russ said Anna matches Stacey’s other victims – suffocated, traces of water in her lungs.’

Sam bit his lip. ‘It doesn’t make _sense_ ’ he murmured.

‘Yeah, well, Russ says we should go pay the Hutton's a visit tomorrow,’ Dean slid his phone into his pocket, ‘have a look around Stacey’s house, see if there’s something there that’s still connected to her.’

‘Good idea’ Sam said, but his mind was clearly still distracted. Because something was niggling, was unsettling him.

Something was just… _not right_.

 

**

 

‘What do you mean you’re not coming?’ Dean’s brows drew together in confusion.

‘I mean,’ Sam said patiently, ‘I’m not coming.’

Dean’s brows knitted together. ‘Are you – are you still feeling sick? Is that it? Shit, Sammy, I thought the docs said – ’

Sam held up a hand to halt the flow of Dean’s concern. ‘Dean, stop, _stop_. I’m fine. I _swear_. I just… I just want to check out a few things is all. On my own.’

Dean stared a moment, concern still furrowing his brow. They were due to be at Stacey’s house for the meeting that Russ had secured for them, were supposed to be meeting Russ in ten minutes. He tugged at his suit tie, rubbed at his face. Sam saying he was not coming was decidedly not what they'd discussed last night. Dean didn't like it. Every time he'd left Sam on his own during this damn case something had gone wrong and he was torn between forcing Sam to come and just wanting to do the interview and get this entire shit-show of a case over and done with. 

‘Check out _what_ stuff?’ he frowned.

‘Just… things,’ Sam gave a half hearted shrug.

‘Is this just because you want to avoid Russ?’ Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘ _Please_. Give me a little more credit. I don’t like the dude but I’m not going to go out of my way just to avoid him. There’s just – like I said, Dean, something feels… _off_ about this case. I want to get on the net, look into the history of the town. Maybe there’s something we missed entirely – a past or something.’

‘All right,’ Dean sighed, grabbing his key. ‘Fine. Leave me to deal with the freak all day then.’

‘Hey, at least he likes you,’ Sam pointed out, tugging his laptop across the breakfast table towards himself. ‘The only thing you have to worry about really is slipping up on all the saliva he drips everywhere while he drools over you.’

‘Ew, Sammy, graphic much’ Dean grimaced.

He headed over to Sam, cupped the back of his head and titled his head up.

‘Kiss for luck?’ he grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes, but reached up and caught Dean’s chin, tugging him down so their lips met.

 

**

It was surprising, _the Parasite_ electing to stay back.

Surprising, but he was glad for it. It meant less time in _It's_ presence. More time for just he and Dean.

Maybe _th_ _e Parasite_ was finally getting it – finally getting that  _It_ didn’t belong beside Dean, that  _It_ needed to stop riding on Dean’s coattails, stop clinging onto him and dragging him down –

He watched through the hole, clenched his jaw when they kissed. When  _the Parasite_ put his hand to Dean’s chin possessively, like  _It_ owned him. Forcing Dean to kiss _It_. _It_ turned in the chair, spread  _It's_ legs so Dean fit between them and Dean leant more down, the kiss growing harder, more hungry, more passionate.  _The Parasite_ hooked a leg around the back of Dean’s legs, forcing them closer. Dean broke the kiss a little, was looking down at  _It_ with an expression on his face –

 _Disgust_ , he told himself firmly. _It was disgust on Dean's face, not fondness. Disgust_.

‘Gonna get me all excited Sammy’ Dean murmured. ‘Make me late.’

 _It_ shrugged, gave an evil smile – evil, because _It_ was evil, _It_ was, _It_ was, _It_ was – ‘be late, who cares?’ _the Parasite_ said back.

And he moved away from the hole in the wall, clenched his jaw and fists.

That disrespectful freak.

He took a few deep, steadying breaths to calm his heartbeat, calm the rising anger. He smoothed a hand over his face.

It was weird,  _the Parasite_ electing not to come with them. Weird and… _suspicious_. He made a mental note to keep a careful watch, be on guard today.

_Just in case._

 

**

 

Sam didn’t really know what he was looking for exactly. He just knew that _something_ felt weird about the latest death – about Anna. Everything _should_ have ended with Stacey’s remains being torched. The case _should_ be over.

So why then was Anna killed?

Furthermore, and Sam felt a little guilty as he trawled through the Facebook page he’d hacked into for Stacey – _furthermore_ , this did not seem like a depressed girl. Dean had said that the girl had been bullied - and there was indeed evidence of this Sam found that made his jaw tighten, his fist clench - but - _but_ Stacey had seemed strong, resilient, determined to push through, hopeful for the future. She had not, Sam thought, seemed a girl on the verge of breaking.

 _Maybe she was good at hiding it_ , he thought as he sat back in his chair, gazed at the screen. _People are always good at pretending if they’ve had years of practice_. He made a wry face. He knew _that_ from personal experience.

He shifted, worked the kinks from his back and started to think maybe he should have just gone along with Dean and Russ. He hadn’t wanted Dean to stay behind, not when Sam had only a gut feeling - and one, it appeared, that hadn’t even planned out. He stretched out both his long legs and lightly kicked the waste basket. It rattled a little and he sat forward to peer into it. They’d had a do-not-disturb sign on the motel door, so the remnants of the past few days worth of rubbish were still present and he wrinkled his nose a little. His eyes snagged on the cup that had held the herbal tea. He stared at it a moment.

Something started to tickle in the back of his mind, an insidious thought, a terrible, horrible idea...

He sat back in his chair, took a few breaths. He looked at the herbal tea cup and thought of the coffee the other day that Russ had given him. He thought of the sickness in his gut, the fever, the chills..

_No._

It was a ridiculous idea.

_Wasn’t it?_

It took a moment before Sam realized his phone was buzzing and he blinked a few times before he grabbed it, briefly checking the number before he answered.

‘Agent Parker’ he said.

‘Hi Agent,’ the voice was familiar, one of the police officers he must have met when he’d investigated Rob’s body, ‘thought I should give you a call and update you on the latest. Another teen died last night.’

‘Anna?’ Sam said, still semi-distracted. ‘Oh, yeah, no, I know all about that, it’s –’

‘We thought it might be the same thing,’ the officer continued, ‘but we were taking a look at the body. Will you be coming down to look at the body?’

‘My, uh, my partner already went last night,’ Sam responded. ‘Agent Bonham? He updated me, so there’ll be no need – ’

‘We didn’t have no FBI agents round last night,’ the officer said, ‘and in any case we only had a look at the body this mornin’.’

Instantly, the officer had Sam’s full attention. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, and the darndest thing, Agent,’ the officer said, ‘I don’t think Anna’s part of this… thing after all.’

‘And what makes you think that?’ Sam said slowly.

‘Well, the poor girl was suffocated, like the others,’ the officer said, ‘but there was no water in her lungs. And – well, it looks like she tried to fight. There’s skin scrapings underneath her finger nails – whoever killed her, she musta scratched them a bit. We’ve collected the samples and we’re sending it to the lab to look into as we speak.’

Sam was silent. His clutched the phone tightly.

‘Agent?’ the officer prompted.

‘Thank you, officer,’ Sam finally managed to get out. ‘I’ll – thank you.’

He hung up the call without another word, sat staring at the empty herbal cup. And he thought – he thought of Russ, of his turning up at the same case, of all the illnesses that had plagued Sam, of the sudden death of Anna even after Stacey’s remains had been taken care of.

Sam got to his feet in a rush, made for Dean’s discarded jeans and rifled in the pockets until he found the crumpled piece of paper, the one Dean had laughingly told him had Russ’s address on it. He gazed at the scrawled words, took a breath and then got to his feet, grabbing his gun, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans and starting to head to the door. He grabbed his phone from the table, dialled a number.

_‘This is Dean. Leave a message.’_

‘Dean,’ Sam stepped out of the room, ‘Dean, listen I think – I don’t know. The police called – Anna wasn’t killed by Stacey. She was killed by something – someone _human_. And I just – I don’t think Russ is who we think he is. Don’t ask me why, I just – I have a feeling, ok? I’m going to his house now to check it out. Call me.’

 

**

 

‘Hey,’ Dean walked from the gas station, two coffees in his hand, raised an eyebrow, ‘hey is that my phone?’

Russ turned, smiled. ‘Yeah you – you must have dropped it,’ he answered, holding it out to the elder Winchester. ‘Here.’

‘Thanks,’ Dean grabbed it, checked the screen, saw no messages or missed calls, and pocketed it. ‘You ready to head to Stacey’s?’

‘Actually,’ Russ rubbed his chin, ‘actually, you know I think I might have caught what your brother had.’

He pulled a face, put a hand to his stomach. ‘Not really feeling a hundred percent, you know?’

‘Oh,’ Dean looked at him, ‘oh. Did you want me – I mean, you want me to give you a lift home?’

‘No, no,’ Russ waved a hand, ‘don’t worry about it. I don’t live too far from here. And besides, if it is what your brother had, I wouldn’t dream of chancing puking in Baby.’

He winked and Dean grinned.

‘Damn straight,’ he said, and opened the driver door. ‘Guess I’ll head to Stacey’s on my own.’

‘Sorry man’ Russ said.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dean waved a hand. ‘I’ll give you a call if I find anything.’

Russ backed away from the impala, lifted a hand to wave. ‘Good luck’ he said.

Russ’s blazer sleeve slid a little down his arm and Dean clocked a few scratches on his skin.

‘Yeah, thanks’ he answered, sliding into Baby and shutting the door.

 _Probably a cat,_ he thought as he started Baby. _Guy like that has to have a cat_.

He tried to keep the relief from his face at Russ’s departure, gave a tight smile instead and pulled out from the gas station, with Russ’s eyes tracking his movements as he went.

 _Weirdo_ , Dean thought, and shook his head.

 

**

 

The house was a small, nondescript, plain white two-story house. The front lawn was dying slowly and steadily, the numerous flower bushes wilting as if they hadn’t been watered for a long time. All the windows were shut and curtains drawn and the house looked for all the world like no one lived there.

Sam approached the door slowly, keeping a careful eye out. He knew that Russ was with Dean, but it didn’t keep him from feeling on edge. He reached the door, hesitated, contemplated knocking, then decided it would be better not to announce his presence and instead dug around in his pockets for his lock-pick kit. The house was quiet, still, smelling faintly of dust and disuse when Sam edged inside. There were no lights and, with the curtains shut tight, the entire house was dim and dark and it took a moment for Sam’s eyes to adjust from the brightness of outside to the dull interior of the house.

He shut the door carefully, tucked away his lock-pick kit and instead tugged his gun out, holding it steady in one hand as he slowly inched through the hallway. It looked like any other house. It was almost slightly anticlimactic. Sam moved from room to room in the lower story – the kitchen, fridge and pantry equally empty, with a few pictures on the fridge featuring the same smiling, red-haired girl.

The lounge was neat and clean, a television set and coffee table, all plain colours and a single frame on the mantelpiece, the same red haired girl with her family. All totally, one hundred percent normal.

Except… _except_ for the fact that if this _was_ Russ’s friend, if he _was_ staying here while she was away, why was everything dusty, undisturbed, like no one had been walking around or doing anything in the place for _at least_ a few weeks?

Sam chewed on his lip, retreated from the lounge and made for the stairs leading to the second story. He reached the foot of the stairs, paused and stepped to peer around the staircase at the small door, closed shut tightly, that undoubtedly led down to the basement.

Well, if there was one thing he’d learnt in his lifetime as a hunter – people (and monsters) generally liked to hide things in basements.

He tried the basement door, found it locked, and his suspicion increased, alarms bells starting to ring faintly. He picked the lock and the door swung in, revealing a staircase winding down into darkness. He held tight to his gun, grasped it in front of himself and slowly made his way down the stairs. As he neared the bottom, he could make out the shape of a desk, the faint glow of a computer screen in standby atop the desk. He reached with a hand, felt along the wall, found the switch and flicked the lights on.

And almost dropped his gun on the floor.

There was a plain desk, a chair and a computer, like he’d figured, and an old mattress laid out along one wall, covered in rumpled sheets, so someone had been sleeping down here. But it wasn’t the sparse furniture that captured Sam’s attention – it was the walls.

They were _covered_ in pictures. Newspaper articles. Pages torn from books. Paintings. Drawings.

_All of them of Dean._

It made Sam’s stomach drop out, made a sick feeling sweep over him as he turned slowly on the spot, as his eyes tracked over photos – taken from a distance, clipped from newspapers, yearbooks, even Dean’s mugshot from their arrest. The drawings ranged from lifelike to terrible, some coloured, some in black and white. He walked slowly to the wall, lifted a hand to touch some of the pages taped to the walls and recognized them after a beat – these were pages torn from the Supernatural books. He moved on, saw pages from books not released officially, but leaked onto the internet, printed on printer paper. He slowly stepped back from the wall, drew in a slow breath.

_Obsession._

This was _obsession_.

Obsession with _Dean_.

Sam swallowed. Thought of Russ’s fawning over Dean, thought of his jokes about Russ being a “fanboy.”

He hadn’t realized how accurate he’d really been.

 _It doesn’t mean he’s dangerous though_ , he tried to tell himself, even as the alarm bells that had been faintly ringing before now started to clang loudly, _just because he’s a… fan, doesn’t mean he’s dangerous_.

There was a creak from the floorboards above him. Sam froze, listened. Heard faint sounds of movement above him.

Someone was home.

Sam inched his way up the stairs slowly, gun at the ready, entire body tensed, listening intently. He reached the top of the basement stairs and stepped back out into the main house. He peered around himself. There was a noise on the floor above him and Sam crept up the stairs slowly, reached the top, turned down the hallway – and jumped violently when, with a loud meow, a cat turned to face him.

Sam blinked a moment, then huffed a laugh, lowering his gun, rubbing his face. ‘Scared the crap out of me, kitty’ he murmured.

The cat meowed again, and turned back to the closed door it was in front of, scratching lightly at the wood. Sam stepped towards it.

‘You want to go in there?’ he asked the cat.

It meowed in response and head-butted the door. Curious, Sam reached for the door handle and turned it slowly, finding it unlocked. The door swung in and the smell that hit Sam almost drove him gagging to his knees. The cat gave a hiss, backed away, bolted down the hallway and, _Christ_ , Sam didn’t blame it, because the stench was of rotted meat, of decomposing flesh and it assailed every one of his senses, made bile rise to the back of his throat, almost made him dizzy.

He held a hand to his mouth, regathering himself and, eyes watering, inched into the room, already knowing what he was going to find, already knowing the _one_ thing that could create a smell like that –

The red head girl from the photos was on the bed, clad in the pyjamas she must have been wearing the night she was killed, her throat slashed open, the sheets of the bed all but soaked in red blood, now dried and congealing.

 _Shit_ , Sam thought as he stared at the body.

‘Hi Sam’ a voice said.

And Sam spun around, had time to think “shit” once more before Russ, who’d been standing behind the door, swing the baseball bat he held in one hand and smashed it into his head and there was a burst of pain before everything went black.

 

**

 

Sam came to slowly, woozily, a pulsing throb in his head. His arms were twisted behind his back uncomfortably and he tried to move them, tried to loosen his shoulders, found that they didn’t budge, felt the pull and scrape of a coarse binding around his wrists.

 _Tied up then_ , he thought idly, and supposed it spoke volumes about his life that he could recognize that so quickly when he brain was essentially still coming back online.

He opened his eyes groggily, blinking a few times, wincing against the onslaught of light. He could feel the pull of dried blood across his forehead, the sting of an open wound, wondered if it was the cut on his head from the fall in the bathroom reopened or a new wound.

Man, Dean was not wrong – monsters (and humans it seemed) really did like to play football with his head.

‘You’re awake’ a voice said stiffly.

Sam lifted and turned his head, squinting. He was tied to a chair, arms bound behind his back, ankles tied to the chair legs, another length of rope around his chest, binding him tight, and he was back in the creepy basement, surrounded by the hundreds of pictures of Dean, with Russ sitting calmly at the desk, watching him with inscrutable expression in his eyes. Sam straightened as much as he could in the chair, blinked away the last vestiges of dizziness and fogginess.

‘Like what you’ve done with the place,’ he rasped out, jerking his head at the walls, ‘you should be an interior decorator.’

Russ shook his head. ‘You really shouldn’t try to do the sarcastic quip thing,’ he said, ‘it’s _Dean’s_ thing. Not _yours_.’

Sam arched an eyebrow. ‘Well… I suppose you would know; you seem to be the Dean expert.’

Russ rose from his chair. ‘I’m _more_ than an expert – I’m – I’m his _soulmate_ ,’ he spread his arms out, started to warm to his subject, voice rising in excitement, ‘I’m his – his _other half_ – his _equal_. I – know _everything_ about him, I make a _point_ to know everything about him so I can – I can _do_ everything for him – so I can _provide_ everything he _needs_ – ’

‘’S’funny,’ Sam interrupted harshly, ‘because I don’t recall Dean _needing_ someone to kill Anna, and - and whoever it is who lives here –’

‘ _Sacrifices_ ,’ Russ snapped, ‘sacrifices are essential. He was going to leave. Anna’s death kept him here.’

‘And the woman who lived here?’ Sam demanded.

‘I needed a place to set up,’ Russ shrugged, ‘I needed a base. She was a loner with a cat. No one even missed her. And S – ’

He stopped abruptly, glanced to one side and Sam’s mind started to think, started to tick over.

‘Stacey,’ he said. ‘ _Stacey_ – did you – ’

‘I needed a case,’ Russ snarled. ‘A case to bring Dean to me. A bunch of drunk teens; it was a recipe for something to go wrong – she was drunk, I followed her… she would’ve fallen off that water tower anyway, stupid girl. I just – gave her… just a little push – '

‘Jesus Christ’ Sam breathed, horrified. ‘ _Jesus Christ_. You _murdered_ her.’

‘It was _necessary_! Sacrifices are necessary,’ Russ shouted, stepping towards him.

‘Those kids – she killed – ’ Sam was shaking his head.

‘I bound her to me,’ Russ set his shoulders firmly, ‘ordered her to kill the kids. I thought the water in the lungs was a nice touch. Knew it would get Dean’s attention, make him think there was a case.’

‘You’re fucking deranged,’ Sam stared. ‘You’re fucking crazy – ’

‘Shut up’ Russ snapped.

‘You _killed_ innocent people – innocent _kids_ – because you had a _crush_ on –’

‘S _hut the fuck up_!’ Russ swung out, backhanded Sam across the face, cutting off his words.

Sam’s head snapped back and he tasted blood, head spinning a moment. He blinked a few times, felt blood trickle from his lips and mouth, spat it on the ground and glared up at Russ.

‘Don’t you _dare_ – don’t you _dare_ trivialize what Dean and I have,’ Russ hissed, ‘by calling it a “ _crush_ ” – _don’t you dare_ – ’

‘You and Dean,’ Sam spat, ‘don’t _have_ anything – ’ 

Russ grabbed his throat and Sam gurgled, the grip tight enough to cut his words off, to hamper his breathing.

‘Because of _you_ ,’ Russ shoved his face close, ‘because _you’re_ in the way. _Because of you_ – and I’m going to _kill_ you – I’m going to _cut_ you up, _rip_ you limb from limb – ’

He released Sam turned to stride to the desk. Sam sucked in a breath.

‘If you think _that’s_ the way to get Dean to like you,’ he gasped out, ‘if you thinking killing me will do that, you don’t know Dean at all – ’

‘He’ll be mad at first,’ Russ rifled in the top drawer of the desk, removed a long knife. ‘I totally get that he will. It’ll take a while for it sink in that I’ve set him free – ’

‘Set him free – what are you even – ’

‘I know all about you!’ Russ whirled to face him. ‘I _know_ – I know _all_ about you – I’ve read every book, talked to every hunter I can find, I’ve studied your history – and I _know_ – I know you drag him down, you _ruin_ him, you _ruin his life_ – you make him _miserable_! Because of _you_ ,’ he started to walk towards Sam, his voice rising with each word, ‘because of _you_ he had no childhood, had to spend it looking after _you_ , taking care of _you_ , and _how_ did you repay him? You took off to Stanford! You _abandoned_ him – ’

Sam couldn’t breathe a moment. ‘You don’t know anything about – ’ he finally managed.

‘And then – and then – you’re the _reason_ he went to Hell! That was _your_ fault – and you couldn’t save him, you _couldn’t even do one thing_ – _you couldn’t save him_ – and – and he gets back and how do you repay him – you _fuck_ some demon, you suck down demon blood – you think I don’t know about that? About what you did?’

Sam felt very cold. His heart was thundering in his ears.

‘And then you start the apocalypse – _the goddamn apocalypse_ – you put another burden on Dean – _another burden_ – ’

‘Shut up’ Sam said quietly

. ‘ – and then, after finally throwing yourself where you belong – in the darkest pits of hell – after finally, _finally_ releasing him the weight of carrying _you_ around his entire life – you come back and _ruin_ his chance at happiness. _Selfish_. You’re nothing but a selfish _parasite_.’

‘Got to hell’ Sam whispered.

‘If it weren’t for you,’ there was a smile on Russ’s face, smug and twisted, ‘Dean’s parents would never have been killed. _You’re_ the reason his family is dead. You’re the reason for _everything_ , Sam.’

There was a tightness in Sam’s chest, a clench on his heart, and he was finding it difficult to breath.

 _Don’t listen_ , he tried to tell himself, _don’t listen to him_.

‘And I _know_ what you make him do,’ Russ said, and the smile faded, twisted in disgust. ‘I know how _sick_ you are.’

Sam looked at him, met his hardened gaze.

‘He doesn’t want you in the same _fucked up_ way you want him,’ Russ hissed, ‘he only does it because _you_ make him.’

Sam felt a little sick. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Russ laughed, harshly. ‘Listen, if you even care about Dean in the _slightest_ ,’ he moved to trail the knife down the side of Sam’s face, dug it in a little, ‘even the _tiniest_ bit, you’ll do him a favour, and let me kill you.’

The knife slid down the length of Sam’s neck, nicked a little at the flesh there. Sam swallowed hard, Russ’s hard eyes boring into his, the insidious words working their way into his brain until they were all he could think about – every little doubt, every little thing he’d ever thought about himself dragged out into the open –

 _It’s not true_ , he told himself firmly, harshly,  _none of it is true_ –

But there was another voice – a voice that sounded muffled, like it whispered from behind a wall – and it was familiar, oh so familiar, like he’d heard for years and years and years and it was saying Russ was right, was saying _Sam deserved to die, deserved pain, that everything Russ said was true, so true_ –

There was a shrill ringing from the desk and Russ started, straightened up and glancing over. His phone had lit up, was ringing incessantly. He scowled a moment, then dug into his pocket, dragged out a filthy rag and promptly turned, grabbing Sam’s chin, forcing his mouth open and jamming the rag in. Sam gagged, heaved, tried to spit it out, tasted grime and dirt, was unable to dislodge it. Russ walked to his phone, smirked, and clicked answer.

‘Hey _Dean_ ’ he said brightly, eyes pointedly on Sam.

Sam made a noise, muffled by the rag, tugged at his bonds.

‘Stacey’s house was a bust, eh?’ Russ leant against the desk, made a humming noise. ‘Weird. How about we meet up? Try and figure out our next move?’

He nodded his head, twirled the knife.

‘Oh no, I’m feeling fine now. Feeling great actually,’ Russ beamed a smile at Sam, who glared hot fury from the chair. ‘How about we meet at the pub in 10? Cool. See you then.’

He hung up the phone, put the knife down and sighed a little. ‘It’s a pity, it was really looking forward to cutting you up, taking my time, actually getting to watch you die,’ he commented idly as he turned to rifle in his desk, ‘but getting to spend extra time with Dean is worth it, naturally. Ahhh here it is,’ he straightened up, turning to shake a tiny little bottle of brown liquid at Sam. ‘See, I’ve been looking at some witchcraft – had to learn how to bind Stacey to me, you know? You might have experienced some of my work that I slipped into your coffee and tea,’ he grinned. ‘Just trying out a few herbal concoctions. Gotta say, lucky you’re so tall and built – a smaller or younger person woulda been killed by the stuff I gave you. I was kinda disappointed it didn’t.’

He dropped to a crouch in front of Sam.

‘But,’ he unscrewed the cap, ‘but all that was trial and error I guess; now I _know_ this stuff will definitely kill you. You’ll start to ache, to shiver, to bleed from your nose, and the blood - it just won't clot. You'll just keep bleeding, from any open wounds. _Bleeding_ and _bleeding_ until you die. Tied to this chair, surrounded by the person you failed,' he gestured to the pictures of Dean, smiled contentedly, and turned back to Sam, 'sounds fun, right?'

He reached up, tugged the gag from Sam’s mouth.

‘Dean,’ Sam coughed, gagged a little, tried to swallow, ‘he’ll know I’m missing – ’

‘Because Sam Winchester _never_ just takes off on his own, now does he?’ Russ sneered. ‘ _Never_ selfishly runs away from his problems?’

‘Go to hell’ Sam growled.

‘Oh no, that’s where _you_ belong,’ Russ smiled, ‘not me. Now – open up!’

He grabbed Sam’s nose, pinched it tight, forced his mouth open and tipped the liquid in, then wrapped his hand around Sam’s mouth, forcing it shut, forcing it closed. Sam struggled, tried to fight against swallowing. Russ released his nose, put a hand to Sam’s throat and rubbed, forcing the swallowing motion, forcing the liquid down his throat. Sam tried to groan, even as he felt it trickle down the back of his throat. Russ released him stepped away and Sam sucked in a breath, spat valiantly on the ground, even as he knew the futility of the action.

‘Now, one last thing…’ Russ moved back to the desk, grabbed the discarded knife and he was back at Sam in a second.

There was a flash of silver and he sliced across Sam’s chest twice, Sam gasping at the sudden sharp pain, then he dug it into his bicep, cutting a deep long cut on one side, and then on the other.

‘No fun in no blood clots if you’re not all cut up, now is there?’ Russ grinned, stepped back.

He tossed the knife to one side, ran a hand through his hair and headed for the stairs.

‘Goodbye Sam,’ he called over his shoulder with a smile, ‘don’t take too long in dying now.’

Then he trotted up the stairs, out the door and Sam heard it shut with a clang and the click of the lock, sealing him into the basement.

 

**

 

Sam’s shirt was saturated.

The blood was flowing freely, sluggishly from the wounds. It was puddling a little on the chair he was sitting on, trickling down his bound arms, and he could feel it leaking from his nose, thick and cloying, dribbling over his lips so all he could taste was salt and copper.

He _ached_.

He ached all over and he was dizzy, light-headed, felt like he could feel every single heart beat thudding in his body. He’d stopped struggling, because pulling and yanking at his bonds had been increasing his heartbeat and making the blood flow faster, more rapidly. He had no idea how much time had passed. He was blinking more and more slowly and had started to shiver, tremble on the chair. Everything felt woozy, every breath more and more of an effort.

 _Dean will come_ , he’d told himself as soon as Russ had left. _Dean will come_.

His head lolled a little on his shoulders and he stared at he walls, at the pictures of his brother looking back at him.

 _Dean will come_ , he thought now, but it wasn’t so certain anymore.

_Parasitic freak._

He swallowed, closed his eyes.

_Parasite._

No.

_Better off without you._

Please.

_You ruined his life._

God.

He tried to draw in a deep breath, felt it stutter in his lungs.

_Saaammmm…_

The voice was a whisper, a whisper and there was that tickling, that scratching at the back of his head.

_Sammyyyyyy…_

The echo of a lifetime of pain, of agony, of torture, resounded with that voice, that whisper from inside his head –

 _‘Sam!_ ’

\- and somewhere there were flames flickering, licking at his body, and he was being torn apart and –

‘Sammy!’

\- and there were hands on his face?

Sam wrenched his eyes open with difficulty, felt them drag and there were hands, pawing at his face, smoothing through his hair, frantic and desperate, and a pair of green eyes, wide and terrified, scanning him.

‘Sammy?!’

‘Dean’ Sam’s tongue felt thick and unwieldy in his tongue, and when he spoke he could taste copper and feel the slip-slide of blood coating his lips.

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s me, it’s me, ok,’ the green eyes vanished and there was tugging at his bonds, the grate of a knife on rope, ‘you’re gonna be ok, ok, you’re gonna be ok – _Jesus_ – _Jesus fucking_ – Sammy, there’s so much blood you – ’ a half hysterical chuckle, ‘- you look like an extra from an Tarantino film, _Christ_ kiddo – ’

The ropes fell from Sam’s hands, from his chest and his body sagged forward. Dean was moving in an instant, catching him, preventing him from toppling forward. Sam slumped against him, felt his breath coming out in raggedy gasps through his lungs, his head resting in the crook between Dean’s shoulder and neck. He felt one of his brother’s hands come to his back, lightly stroke down it.

‘Hey, hey, easy, you’re ok, you’re ok, Sammy’ he heard Dean murmur, felt the tiniest brush of lips across the side of his face.

‘Dean’ Sam mumbled, and tried to gather his scattered thoughts, but he was so tired, so drained and Dean was a solid, warm figure and he just wanted to cuddle up to him and fall asleep.

‘’M’here sweetheart,’ Dean muttered. ‘’M’here. Tracked your phone. Freaked when you weren’t picking up and you weren’t at the motel. What the hell are you doing at this house? And what’s with the pic – look, never mind, we’ll get you out of here, ok? Get you to the hospital – ’

He needed to tell Dean this wasn’t just any house, that it was Russ’s house, he needed to tell Dean about Russ, warn him about the deranged other hunter, he needed to tell Dean a hospital wouldn’t work because it was magic in his veins, killing him slowly. He needed to say this but he was _so_ tired and it was getting harder to breathe, harder and harder, and he was so achy, and his body wouldn’t stop shaking, shivering and he was… he was just… so… tired…

Dean’s heart was thundering against his chest and he struggled to keep a lid on his worry, his panic and the undercurrent of fury that was pulsing through his veins, a desperate desire to punch the crap out of whoever it was that had done this to Sammy. He’d been instantly worried when Sam hadn’t answered his phone, had swung past the motel and found the room empty and immediately started tracking his brother’s phone, focusing entirely on following that tiny little dot on the screen and not – absolutely _not_ letting his brain run away with imagining what might have happened, what might be happening to Sam –

He hadn’t expected the non-descript house, sitting quietly and innocently, and for a brief moment he’d wondered why in the hell Sam would be here, before he’d decided that wasn’t important – what _was_ important, what was _always_ most important, was purely and simply just _finding Sam_.

The instant he’d seen the basement, the light shining from beneath the door, he’d broken the lock and raced down the stairs. It had bought him up short, momentarily stunned him seeing _his_ face across the walls – _endless pictures of his face_ – and for a second the confusion and shock had overwhelmed him.

Then he’d seen Sam, sitting slumped in a chair, all but saturated in blood, with a steadily growing puddle of red around him.

Dean’s feet had been moving before his brain had even caught up with the movement, and he was stumbling to grab at Sam’s white as chalk face, to pat and paw and beg for a response. There were cuts across Sam’s chest, on his biceps, one on his forehead and blood was trickling steadily from his nose and Dean was used to seeing Sam bloody ( _and didn’t he hate that he was_ ) but, _Jesus_ , _this_ amount of blood was something else.

Sam was now limp and heavy in his arms, his breathing coming out in a laboured, raggedly sound that increased Dean’s worry tenfold. He started to saw at the ropes binding Sam’s feet to the chair, grimaced at the slip and slide of the knife across the blood soaking the rope, soaking Sam’s jean’s, soaking into his shoes.

‘Jesus Christ’ he breathed.

He wanted to be sick, couldn't be sick, _had to focus, had to free Sam, help Sam, save Sam_ - 

‘Russ’ Sam’s voice was a slurred mutter in his ear.

Dean cut through the last of the ropes on Sam’s left foot, moved to his right.

_Focus, had to focus._

‘Russ? What? Russ isn’t here Sammy’ he said distractedly.

‘Russ,’ Sam repeated, then made a muted noise of pain, ‘De’n… de… Russ…’

‘Sammy, Russ,’ Dean cut the last of the rope, shook his head, ‘look never mind, c’mon, let’s get you up, we’ve got to get you to a hospital –’

‘Nnnnoooo,’ Sam moaned and his hands flapped, grabbed at Dean’s shirtfront. ‘De…’

‘Sssh, Sammy, sweetheart, ‘s’ok, I gotcha ok, I gotcha,’ Dean heaved Sam up to his feet, staggered back a little as Sam slumped his entire weight onto him, felt the wetness of the blood seep into his own clothes.

‘Jesus, puttin’ you on a diet after this, Sasquatch,’ he tried to joke as he shifted beneath his brother’s weight.

He wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, gripped him tight and started to drag him, even as his mind questioned how he’d get Sam up the damn stairs and _god damn, why did the damn kid have to grow to be so tall and_ –

There was a creak on the stairs behind him and Dean froze, shifted and turned, muscles tense, his free hand going to his gun.

It was Russ.

Dean blinked a moment. ‘Russ? What are you – how did you – ’ he shook his head. ‘Fuck it, never mind. Listen, help me out here, we gotta get Sammy to the hospital –’

‘No’ Russ said calmly, and didn’t move from where he stood on the last step.

Dean paused and his brows came together in confusion. ‘ _No_? No what? No to helping me? No to the hospital? Russ, what the _hell_ – ’

‘No to both,’ Russ said, and his voice was the same infuriatingly calm tone, ‘although, to be honest, it’s not like the hospital would be able to help him anyway.’

Dean stared at Russ. ‘ _What are you_ – ’ he stopped and his eyes flickered to the walls, to the pictures of his face that stared back from every square inch.

Everything, all at once, fell into place with startling, horrifying clarity.

‘This is your house’ the words came out hollow, a statement not a question.

‘Technically no,’ Russ answered with a smile, ‘I think the girl who owned this place was called Lauren? But I have been squatting here a few months; made myself quite at home,’ he wafted a hand at the walls and his smile widened, ‘as you can see. Do you like it?’

‘ _Do I_ – ’ Dean snorted. ‘It’s a little too Narcissus for my liking.’

He shifted a little, hefted Sam’s weight. Russ’s eyes tracked the movement.

‘Why don’t you put him down on the ground?’ he offered.

‘Why don't you go fuck yourself?’ Dean shot back.

Russ sighed a little and in the blink of an eye there was a gun in his hand, pointing directly at them. ‘I _said_ , why don’t you put him down, Dean?’ he said, voice a little firmer.

Dean’s hand twitched, made for his own gun.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Russ cautioned instantly, ‘you’re too burdened by holding him up. By the time you get your gun out, I’d have shot him in the skull. So,’ he inclined his head, smiled, ‘why don’t you put down Sam and your gun and we talk.’

Dean’s jaw clenched. ‘He’s bleeding out – ’

‘He can either bleed out on the floor and we talk,’ Russ cut across, ‘or he can have a bullet in his skull and we’ll talk. Your decision, Dean.’

Dean ground his teeth together, then slowly, moving towards the wall, he lowered Sam to the floor, his back up against the wall, paused a moment to cup the side of Sam’s face.

‘Just hang on, Sammy’ he muttered.

_For the love of God, hang on Sammy, hang on -_

He shifted back, rose to his feet and turned to Russ.

‘Your gun, Dean’ Russ reminded him, and Dean felt fury flare when he saw Russ was pointing the gun at Sam, knowing instinctively that it was more of a threat for Dean for the gun to be pointing at his younger brother then at him.

Dean tugged his gun out, placed it on the ground and kicked it gently towards Russ.

‘You killed Anna then?’

Russ watched idly as the gun skittered across the floor towards him. ‘Anna and Stacey,’ he confirmed casually, and glanced back up to Dean’s face. ‘It’s hardly important though.’

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. ‘ _Stac_ … Jesus Christ,’ he breathed. ‘Jesus. _Why_? Why the hell – ’

‘How can you not know?’ Russ stepped from the staircase towards Dean, face splitting into a beaming smile. ‘For _you_. I didn’t it for you. Everything I do – everything I’ve _done_ – I do it for _you_.’

And Dean suddenly felt very cold all over, went very still. ‘Me,’ he repeated, ‘I don’t…’

‘You’re… you’re my _hero_ ,’ Russ flung his free hand to the walls, ‘I mean – I – god – you’re my _everything_ Dean and I – it came to me – this epiphany – the realization – you’re not just my hero and my everything, you’re my soulmate – you – you’re my _soulmate_ Dean.’

Dean stared. ‘Your… are you fucking kidding me?’

‘No, no, listen to me,’ Russ was moving closer, his eyes starting to light up, to glint with an almost manic shine, ‘ _listen to me_ – you feel it – I _know_ you feel it – this thing between us – I – I – I read all the books, I read about everything you did and it just – I just _knew_ , as soon as I read about you, that you were _everything_ and then – then,’ Russ flailed his free hand a bit, ‘then I went online and people were saying – they were saying it was _true_ – it was all true – you were _real_! I had to test it – I _had_ to test it – test that this stuff – the supernatural stuff was real and I – I summoned – the demons,’ Russ faltered a moment.

Something dawned on Dean. ‘The demons that killed your parents.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Russ shook his head, ‘I didn’t _mean_ for them to die – I _didn’t_ – it just – but anyway – it _proved_ it – it _proved_ it was real – it was all real – _you were real_ – and I just – I researched and I talked and the other hunters – they had so much to tell and to say and it just became clearer and clearer to me what I had to do, what _you needed_ me to do – ’

‘What I _needed_ you to do?’ Dean echoed.

He kept his eyes on the gun Russ held, the gun that was losing it focus on Sam’s prone form the more animated that Russ got – he just needed the gun to be off Sammy, just for a moment – _just for one moment_ –

‘Rescue you,’ Russ breathed smiling, ‘you needed me to _rescue_ you.’

Dean inched forward a step, hoped Russ, caught in his fantasies, didn’t notice. ‘Rescue me from what?’

The smile faded, twisted into something ugly. ‘From _It_ ,’ he spat, and the gun was suddenly pointing dead on at Sam again.

Dean stiffened, his eyes flickered to Sam, tracked the stuttering rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

 _Hang on Sammy,_ he thought, willed, prayed, _hang on god dammit_.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he challenged Russ.

‘You don’t even know, don’t even see,’ Russ said quietly, ‘he’s got you so blinded, he’s… _It’s_ infected you so much. You don’t even see anymore how much _It's_ crushing you, bringing you down. That  _thing_ the reason for everything that’s ever gone wrong in your life –’

‘That’s not true’ Dean snapped.

‘Yes it _is_!’ Russ insisted. ‘He’s a parasite and he - It’s been leeching off you, sucking you dry since the moment It was born –’

‘Russ, _I swear to God_ – ’

‘I know what he makes you do! I know how _sick_ – how _twisted_ – ’

‘ _If you don’t shut the fuck_ – ’

‘I _saw_ you!’ Russ burst out, and the gun was off Sam now, the younger hunter was scrambling towards Dean. ‘I saw you two – I saw him – _It_ \- was – forcing you – ’

Dean moved in an instant, lunged forward, grabbed the arm that Russ held the gun in, twisted it, knocked the gun away and bought his knee up into Russ’s gut, sending him doubling over. The other hunter crumpled, knees hitting the ground and Dean twisted his arm up his back until the other man yelled out in pain.

‘You – ’ Dean snarled, looming behind the kneeling hunter, pressing his knee into the younger man’s lower back, ‘ – you have _no fucking idea_ what you’re talking about, you understand me? What Sammy and I do – ’ he dropped his voice, leant in close, ‘- I fucking _enjoy_ it, I _started_ it – and you have _no idea_ about my brother – _no fucking idea_ – ’

‘Dean,’ Russ made a wounded noise, ‘ _Dean_ –’

‘Tell me why you said a hospital won’t work on him’ Dean growled. ‘What did you do to him?’

‘You – if you just let him die – if you just free yourself – ’ Russ tried.

‘Wrong answer,’ Dean twisted the arm up higher, too high and there was a sickening pop as Russ’s shoulder dislocated, slid out of joint and the younger hunter screeched in pain. ‘Tell me what you did asshole before I start _cutting_ you into pieces – ’

‘It’s magic – it won’t – his blood won’t clot –’ Russ started to ramble.

‘How do I fix it?’ Dean snapped.

‘Dean – ’ Russ whimpered.

Dean leant on the dislocated shoulder. ‘ _How do I fix it_?!’

‘Bottom draw!’ Russ gasped, face contorted in pain, ‘the little bottle – bottom draw – ’

‘ _If you’re lying to m_ e – ’ Dean snarled.

‘I swear I’m not, I _swear_!’ Russ shouted.

Dean grabbed the back of his head, slammed in onto the floor, heard the satisfying crunch of Russ's nose shattering, then released the other hunter's arm, let him slump in a whimpering pile to the floor and rushed to the desk. He grabbed the bottom draw, yanked it open and pulled out a small bottle filled with yellow liquid. In a second he was at Sam’s side, cupping his brother’s face.

‘Russ, if you’re lying,’ Dean warned with a heavy glare at the hunter, before he turned back to Sam.

Sam’s skin was ice cold, the blood was still flowing sluggishly and his breathing sounded laboured, heavy, his eyelids flickering. He cupped Sam’s chin, tilted his head a little.

‘Hey, sweetheart, gonna need you to open up and drink some of this OK?’ he murmured, thumbing at Sam’s blood-stained lips, gently tugging his mouth open.

Sam made a whisper-soft noise and Dean took that as his acceptance and put the bottle to his lips and titled up, letting the strange smelling yellow liquid trickle into Sam’s mouth. Sam’s throat worked automatically, swallowing, and Dean sucked in a breath, tugging the bottle back, and vowed that if Russ was lying he would make the damn hunter _scream_ in agony for hours before he –

The blood from Sam’s nose stopped trickling. Dean took that as a sign and he let out his breath. Sam would still need stitches and a blood transfusion but at least the blood was clotting now – at least whatever magic Russ had infected him with had been eradicated. There was movement behind him and Dean rose to his feet, spun and as Russ started to get up, his face a bloodied mess, shoulder hanging limply, Dean reared his fist back and punched him _once_ – Russ staggered back with a startled yelp – _twice_ – Russ fell backwards, hit the ground with a thud – and then delivered a kick to his ribs _once – twice – three_ times – Russ curling in on himself with a cry and a sob, hands scrabbling to cover his head as his body contorted into a ball –

‘You son of a bitch,’ Dean snarled, ‘you _kill innocent_ girls – _you attack my brother_ – you sick sonofa – ’

He bent down, grabbed the gun off the ground, clicked off the safety, pointed it at Russ.

‘Let me make this _perfectly_ clear, asshole,’ he snapped, ‘whatever you think about me – whatever little hero worship fantasy you got goin’ on – you’re dead wrong if you think – if you even think I would tolerate you after that – you – what you did - to - those kids - to _Sam_ \- _to my brother_ \- you fuck - ’

He stepped forward, levelled the gun.

‘A bullet in your brain is too good a death,’ he rolled his shoulders, ‘but seein’ as how it’s’all I got – we gotta make do. Goodbye, you sick asshole – ’

‘ _No_!’ Russ yelped.

‘Dean.’

Dean paused. Sam’s voice was a pained rasp.

‘Dean, don’t.’

‘Sammy,’ Dean’s teeth were gritted, ‘he’s a _murderer_. He killed innocent girls. He tried to kill _you_. He’s – ’

‘Human,’ Sam struggled to talk, to keep his eyes even half open, ‘we don’t… we d’n’t… kill… humans…’

Dean snorted. ‘Don’t know if we can claim that any longer Sammy – besides which, this guy isn’t fuckin’ human any – ’

‘ _Dean_ ’ it came as a sigh and Sam’s eyes fluttered closed.

Dean drew in a breath, let it out, then closed his eyes briefly. His finger twitched, itched, and he wanted, he wanted so bad, and the rage thrummed in his veins, crackled across his skin and Russ deserved to die, deserved it, had killed people, hurt Sammy, hurt _Sammy_ , Sammy -

Sammy.

He opened his eyes, felt his shoulders drop.

‘God fucking dammit’ he muttered.

He took two steps forward, kicked Russ square in the head, sending him slumped back unconscious and glared down at the limp figure.

‘It’s your lucky day, asshole’ he growled.

 

**

 

‘Hey,’ Dean shut the door to the small wooden cabin behind himself, hefted the bag he was carrying on one hand, ‘got pie!’

It was a small cabin, consisted mostly of a single lounge-kitchen-dining room combined, a small bedroom through on door and a bathroom adjoining onto the bedroom. It was largely dusty, the appliances rudimental, the television reception poorly to non-existent, the heating pure through means of a fire place and the electricity spotty at best. Bobby had built it at some point in his long life, and it was warded to the teeth, inside and out. So it was, in short, to Dean, _perfect_ – it was perfect for he and Sam to relax in while Sam recuperated from stitches and blood transfusions and the general reeling aftermath of Russ.

His brother in question was on the couch, still looking a little pale in the face, bruising still stark across his forehead, curled beneath a blanket pouring over what looked like one of Bobby’s huge supernatural tomes, with the small radio set playing some sort of classical music channel softly that, _boy oh boy_ , was Dean going to tease the hell out of Sam for listening to later.

Sam glanced up at his entrance. ‘Oh, hey’ he smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Hey, he says, _hey_ – did you not hear? Pie, Sammy, _pie_.’

Sam was already focused back on his book. ‘I hope you got real food too.’

‘Real…’ Dean huffed, made his way to the kitchen bench. ‘Yes, I got “real” food. Just for that you’re not getting any pie, just FYI.’

‘I’m devastated. Truly’ Sam said drily.

‘Ungrateful brat’ Dean grumbled as he started to unpack groceries. He tugged bag of tomatoes from the bag, paused and hesitated a moment.

‘Gave Bobby a call when I had reception’ he said.

Sam looked up. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Dean put the bag on the bench, ‘so, uh, the police… and Bobby, they all reckon there’s enough to put Russ away for a long time… there’s prints everywhere in the girl – in Lauren’s house – and the DNA they got from beneath Anna’s fingernails matches his – plus the anonymous tip about his involvement with Stacey’s death…’

He trailed off, rubbed at his chin.

‘Anyway. I’m not sure if they’ll connect the other kid’s deaths – the one’s he made Stacey do – but at the very least he’ll go away from Anna and Lauren so… so that’s something.’

Sam had stopped reading, gazed at the floor instead. ‘Yeah’ he said softly.

‘Still sorta wish you’d let me put a bullet in the sonofabitches head’ Dean gave a half hearted chuckle.

‘No… it’s worse, him living,’ Sam said, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind on ear, ‘him living and knowing that you hate him. I think that’ll be worse for him. He… I mean he adores you. To think… to just know you’re out there hating him?’ Sam made a face, ‘Let’s just say I’ve been in his shoes and the thought of you hating my guts was far worse punishment that any quick death.’

Something tightened in Dean’s gut and he drew in a long breath as he walked to the couch, dropped down next to Sam.

‘We gonna talk about it?’ Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘About what?’ Sam looked up from the ground.

‘Russ – the things he said,’ Dean locked eyes with his brother. ‘He said some pretty shitty things to me, Sammy, I can only imagine what he told you.’

Sam looked away instantly. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘It does,’ Dean said firmly, and shifted closer to his brother. ‘Listen to me, whatever he said, whatever _bullshit_ he was pedallin’, _none_ of it is true, ok? _None_ of it was true, Sammy.’

A bitter smile curved Sam’s lips. ‘Sure seemed like he hit the nail on the head with some things.’

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm. ‘Hey – _hey_!’ he gave it a shake. ‘Hey, look at me, ok? Look at me, Sammy. Russ was an asshole and he was fucked in the head. You _know_ that. I _know_ you _know_ that. And the shit that he said? _None_ of it was true in _any_ way. Russ doesn’t know us – he doesn’t know a goddamn _thing_ about us – and he doesn’t know a goddamn _thing_ about _me_ either – about how I feel, about what I think – I swear to you, everything he said was utter _bullshit_ , ok? I need you to believe that, okay little brother? I _need_ you to believe that.’

Sam sucked in a breath, rubbed at his chin. ‘It’s… when someone just… every little doubt, every thing ever thought about yourself… and they just lay it out like that…’

‘He was trying to hurt you’ Dean said firmly.

‘Did a bang up job of that’ Sam murmured.

‘Sam,’ Dean squeezed his arm, ‘ _Sammy_. You saved the world.’

‘After I broke it’ Sam muttered.

‘After _we_ broke it – not just you, _both_ of us,’ Dean corrected. ‘We’re both flawed Sam – I’ve done some shit, said some shit, fucked up some shit. You gonna tell me if things were reversed, if it had been some psycho obsessed with you insteada me, you’d think everything he threw at me was true?’

‘No, of _course_ not – '

‘Then how’s it any different for you, huh?’ Dean pressed and Sam’s gaze flickered hesitantly to his face, catching his eyes.

Dean tried to smile a little, reached to tap Sam’s nose.

‘Repeat after me, Sammy: Russ was a fucked up psycho who knew nothing and everything he said was a load of crap. Ok?’

Sam took a breath, let it out. ‘Ok’ he said.

'Nu-uh, gotta repeat it sweetheart' Dean tweaked his nose.

It got a smile from Sam, a faint one, but a smile. 'Russ,' he repeated softly, 'was a fucked up psycho who knew nothing and everything he said was a load of crap.'

Dean met Sam's eyes, reached to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. 'Atta boy.'

It would probably take a while, because it always did with Sam, with his Sammy, who dwelled on things, brooded on them, let them consume him – but he’d work on it, he’d work on convincing Sam that everything Russ said was a lie. Just like he’d work on convincing him everything Robo-Sam did wasn’t him. Just like he’d always, forever work on making Sam believe in himself, believe in them, together.

But right now? Right now, Dean thought, what would be best was some distraction, plain and simple.

He let a hand curve around the back of Sam’s neck, tilted his brother’s head up a little and smirked his patented Dean-cocky-as-fuck smirk.

‘So…’ he said.

Sam, understandably looked a little confused from the change in a heart-to-heart to Dean basically looking like he was about to devour him.

‘So?’ he prompted.

Dean’s smirk only widened and he leant forward, captured Sam’s lips in a kiss, pushed his tongue insistently against Sam’s lips until he opened, surrendered into his kiss. He shifted forward, pressed into his younger brother, slid a hand to his slim waist, clutched at it. Sam broke the kiss a little, lifted a hand to stroke down Dean’s back.

‘You’re tryna distract me’ he murmured.

‘It workin’?’ Dean moved to bite, mouth and suck at Sam’s neck.

A soft moan escaped Sam’s mouth and his head fell back, exposing more flesh to Dean’s insistent mouth.

‘Maybe’ he managed to get out.

Dean pulled back, grinned, and suddenly got to his feet, striding to the grocery bags. Sam blinked a few moments, a little lost.

‘Dean…?’ he turned around.

Dean tugged what he was looking for out of the bag, strode back over to Sam, dragged him to his feet, yanked him into a punishing kiss, all but fucking his tongue into Sam’s mouth until the younger man was melting into him. He pulled out every trick he knew that drove Samg crazy, his free hand tangling in Sam’s hair, using the length to pull and direct his brother’s head. He broke the kiss, Sam panting, a little dazed, and lifted what he held. Lube. Sam’s eyes flickered to it, then back to Dean’s face.

‘Yeah?’ he breathed and Dean saw his pupils blow out, saw the lust rise in his eyes.

‘Was thinkin’ I might fuck you, Sammy’ Dean smirked. 

Sam made a soft noise, leaned into him. ‘Yeah’ Dean didn’t know if it was a question or an agreement.

He took a breath, the smirk faded and he caught Sam’s chin, lifted it, met his gaze.

‘If anything – anything – feels…’ he paused. ‘If your head gets… we’ll stop, yeah? No arguments. We’ll stop.’

‘It won’t,’ Sam smiled softly. ‘But ok, Dean.’

‘Ok’ Dean let go of some of his tension. ‘Ok.’

Then he stepped back and smacked Sam on the ass.

‘Right, bed, Sammy’ he grinned.

Sam yelped, gave him a glare and a shove. Dean caught his arms, twisted them, pinning them to his sides, hooked a leg behind Sam’s and used the momentum to basically send him tumbling backwards and landing with a thud on the couch. Dean pounced instantly, blanketed him with his body, bit at his neck. Sam laughed.

‘Thought you said bed’ he gave Dean a little shove.

‘Eh, bed, couch, whatever,’ Dean grinned.

‘So romantic’ Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean caught his lips, kissed him and it was gentle this time, softer, sweeter and – and - 

‘Whatever, bitch’ Dean murmured through the kiss.

 _I love you,_ was what Sam heard.

‘Jerk’ Sam responded.

 _I love you too_ , was what Sam meant.


End file.
